Namesake
by valeriebean
Summary: Snap-shots of life post-BDM. A mixture of joy, peace, angst, and panic. Mal-centric narration. Canon pairings. Serenity becomes a family ship. Warning: character death, but it's right up front, and the rest of the series is totally worth it.
1. Namesake

**PART 1: HE NAMED HER**

Mal looked through the Infirmary window, shell-shocked. Simon tore about in a whirlwind, using every machine, drug, and verbal incantation he knew to bring her back. She, one of the few people in the 'verse who would give everything to save his life… she who had given everything. His body felt cold and hollow, a lump in his chest storing grief for later, a bitter taste in his mouth. He hadn't felt so alone since God left him to die in Serenity Valley.

The tiny baby squirmed in his shaking, calloused hands, crying for her mother. Yellow with jaundice, two months premature, but there was no choice. Come into this world, or die. And so she was here, her face scrunched as she wailed for nourishment. Mal shuddered and held the baby close to calm her.

"Take care of her," her mother had requested, knowing she was dying. "I trust you."

His hands shook all the harder, and he feared he would drop the little baby. She screamed in his ear as he rocked and cooed. How misplaced her mother's trust had been. He wanted to run. To find other relatives who could raise the baby, give her a proper home. But her mother's dying request echoed in his ears.

Mal's heart stopped as Simon slowed his work, checked his watch, and noted time of death. Through the window, he motioned Mal to come in, but Mal's legs were like jelly and he dare not move for fear of falling. Of dropping the little child. A child meant to be a sign of hope and a reminder of happier times. Now she was the last memorial of that happy union. A baby that would never taste her mother's milk or know her father's laugh. An orphan.

The child of Zoë and Wash, whose father never knew she was conceived; whose mother hadn't known her long enough to give her a name. And when Simon asked, he could only think of one. He named her Zoë.

-----

**PART 2: HE SLEPT**

Mal lay face down on the double bed, sobbing. Throat raw, mouth parched, body exhausted from too many days with no sleep. Baby Zoë lay on the bed next to him, swaddled just as Simon had shown him how, surrounded by a throng of stuffed dinosaurs which served as the walls of her crib should she suddenly learn to roll tonight.

Clutching his pillow, Mal inhaled deeply, trying to clear his nose and find Zoë's scent on the sheets. He could still smell the relaxer she used to put in her hair, though the strength waned with each passing day. Holding the pillow more tightly, he wept again, wondering how he could continue with this life. He wasn't a hardened criminal; he just took the jobs he needed. Zoë had made those jobs worth taking. Made them fun. She was his life and his best friend. They were a set – one holding up the other. Without her, he was caving in.

The door to the bunk opened and Inara floated down, her sweet fragrance drowning and overpowering Zoë's. Mal stilled his sobs, waiting for her to speak. After Zoë's death, Inara had delayed her return to the Training House and Mal was waiting for the dreaded day when she would leave again. It didn't much matter now. He was alone with this tiny child and all reason in the 'verse seemed swept away.

Inara sat next to Mal on the bed, so lightly that none of the dinosaurs surrounding the baby tottered. Her hand touched his shoulder and Mal inhaled sharply as though he'd been stung. He accepted her comfort as she gently stroked his back, her presence soothing like a cool breeze through the burn of his grief. Her touch reeked of Companion training, but Mal pushed that thought from his mind and appreciated her effort.

Feeling calmer, Mal rolled carefully onto his back and reached a hand through the line of stuffed animals to touch baby Zoë. Inara continued to stroke his arm soothingly and he breathed deep the comfort of her presence.

"What did you bring me?" Mal asked, noting the canister in her hand.

"Oh, um, baby formula. Simon and Kaylee bought a case of it today."

"The good stuff?"

"So I'm told. Hopefully she'll like this mix better than the last."

"She wants her momma."

Inara was silent a moment, affording Zoë's mention the respect it deserved. She touched Mal's stubble-roughened face and he touched the baby's soft cheek. Somehow between the two, he found a moment of peace and clarity. Mal took Inara's hand in his and pulled it to rest on his heart, but she retracted awkwardly, reminding him that she wasn't his to hold. He watched as she stood and busied herself straightening the mess of baby supplies on the bureau and folding the blankets.

"When are you fixin' to leave?"

Inara slowed, but didn't stop her puttering. "I thought I might stay awhile. Rent out the shuttle again."

"Is the Training House boring you?"

"I just want to be here … to help with the baby. I didn't think you would resign yourself to a planet and she deserves proper schooling."

"I ain't raising a … companion." He had swallowed the word 'whore' and she knew it. But she read the desperation in his eyes and didn't goad him.

Weakened from too many days of not eating, Mal's head lolled against the pillow and he looked at the baby again. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Zoë's pallid face begging him to care for her baby.

The cry of his heart was unexpectedly joined by the baby's as little Zoë lurched herself into wakefulness. Mal started to move his weary body, but Inara stilled him.

"I'll get her," she soothed, picking up baby Zoë and carrying her to the changing table. Mal shuddered in grief, but when he blinked it away, he saw Inara cuddling and cooing the baby like it was her own. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. For the first time, he felt like he might make it through this tragedy. He felt a little less alone.

Inara prepped a bottle of the new formula and sat on the bed next to him while she fed the baby. He reached up briefly to touch them both, and a relaxed sigh fell from his lips. And then, for the first time since Zoë died, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

-----

**PART 3: HE LAUGHED**

"Uh oh." Those were her first words. Perhaps he'd said them too often, because God knew he thought them every day. Her wild, curly hair tickled his arm, unable to be restrained even by Inara's professional touch. Her thin little lips curled into a smile, more from Mal's response than the situation at hand. He was flying the ship, she sat on his lap, and they looked out the window at the forbidding Alliance cruiser in front of them. Normally, he'd be concerned, but the sound of her tiny voice echoing his own apprehension filled him with delight.

He was laughing when he grabbed the P.A. to warn the crew, so much so that Jayne darted in to make sure he wasn't dying in his chair. On seeing the cruiser, Jayne pegged him delirious, and grabbed the P.A. to repeat the grave warning to the crew, when she said it again. "Uh oh." She drew out the "oh" as if it were a song. That's when the burly mercenary cracked.

Mal smiled as the cruiser demanded they dock and hand over their stolen goods. His heart somersaulted as she peaked her little head into view of the vid and repeated the word for the benefit of the Alliance officer. "Uh oh." He was in stitches as she pulled herself to standing on his lap, and blew the officer a kiss over vid.

Jayne practically had to lift Mal from the pilot's seat to take over the conversation. Not bothering to find a chair, Mal sank to the floor, baby Zoë still in his arms, trying to catch his breath. He sighed happily, wiping tears of laughter from his face.

Clutching his aching side, he told her, "Wo ai ni, little Zoë."

She answered with the only word she knew. "Uh oh."

-----


	2. Inheritance

**PART 4: HE WED**

Mal peeked through the side door of the small chapel as it slowly filled. It had been a long while since he'd entered a church for honest purposes, but Mal knew his Ma would've killed him if he married any place else.

He could see his Ma by the back door, holding a squirming little Zoë, now two-and-a-half, all dolled up for the occasion and loathing it. It was way past her naptime, but he'd explained the plan for the ceremony to her and she had promised she'd do her best. He could hear her repeated babbling floating over the quiet conversations of the guests, even as his Ma covered her little mouth to shush her.

"Baba, Baba, Baba, Baba…." She called him Baba – daddy. Every time she said it, his heart soared. He had no part in creating her, but she didn't care. She had never known any father but him.

The music for the processional began and Mal took his place at the front of the church, watching and waiting in nervous anticipation. He felt the tingling in his stomach spread through his whole body, seeing his Ma come up the aisle, beaming at him. Then the bridal party. On cue, little Zoë –the flower girl – was released. With a squeal that was almost a battle cry, she tore through the aisles, lobbing rose petals at the guests like they were hot grenades. She circled the altar, and started toward the back of the church getting ready for another go down the aisle. Mal suppressed a laugh and whistled sharply.

Obediently, little Zoë ran to his side and grabbed hold of his leg, breathless. Not quite the plan they had discussed, but since when did things ever go according to the gorram plan. Little Zoë met his eye encouragingly and he briefly wished it was her mother by his side witnessing the event.

His grief vanished as the music changed and his bride appeared through the door of the church. Feeling his knees go weak, little Zoë gripped his leg all the tighter, trying to hold him up. The world melted away – all he saw was his angel, all he felt was joy.

When Inara took his hand, he kissed it and pulled it to his heart. She was now his to hold forever. And while he wed, little Zoë stayed by his side, holding him steady. Just like her momma would've.

-----

**PART 5: HE SANG**

_The gorram Fed ripped little Zoë right out of his arms, hauling her away, threatening to throw her into the system. She kicked and shrieked, reaching for Mal, too young to understand anything more than they were taking her from her family. Already being restrained by two men, Mal tore forward, ready to have his arms ripped off before he let them disappear with his little girl. He would have shot them all had they not disarmed him already. As she vanished from view, he shouted her name, but no words came out. A gag on his mouth. A spell. A scream._

Mal awoke, covered with sweat, little Zoë standing at the foot of his bed, staring at him, wide-eyed and trembling. Had he woken her? Had he frightened her? Or had she just awoken from the same terrifying nightmare. Ever since it had happened, it plagued them both, and at some point in the night one of them would inevitably get out of bed and check to make sure the other was still there. Tonight, she had woken up first. She stared at him with her momma's almond, tear-filled eyes, and her daddy's thin, quivering lips. Somehow in the mix of Wash's and Zoë's features, she'd ended up with River's nose. He pinched that little nose and she took that as an invitation to crawl into bed and snuggle up next to him. Her fingers tugged and tickled at the hairs on his arm like she was counting them. Her eyes stared intently at his arm, afraid to close lest the nightmare return.

"Baba, will you sing me a song?" she asked timidly. He stilled her fingers so they wouldn't tickle his arm so and kissed the top of her head.

"No, Zobug, it's Aunt Kaylee that does the singin' on this boat."

Zoë sighed sullenly, then resolutely pushed the covers aside and scooted to the edge of the bed. Mal grabbed her waist and pulled her back.

"You ain't wakin' Aunt Kaylee at this hour, darlin'."

Little Zoë gave Mal that same stern look that her mother had often used against him, and he felt himself melt, enveloped by the memory. He would do anything to have his first mate back; but all he had was this sweet little girl asking him to sing. If he'd said no, she would have backed down. He could be a stern father when he needed to. But tonight there was no need for sternness. Not when they were both being plagued by the same nightmare. He racked his brain for a song he could sing without waking Inara – one little Zoë didn't know yet. Finally the proper neurons connected and he began.

"_Twinkle, twinkle, little star._"

"Baba," little Zoë interrupted, turning to face him. "Stars ain't little."

"They're not?"

"No, they're huge." She picked up his hands and made a motion. "The song is wrong."

"Maybe I should change the words then," he suggested and cleared his throat. "How about this: _Twinkle, twinkle great big star, How I wonder what you are._"

"But Baba, we know what stars are."

Mal sighed, starting to wish he'd picked 'Itsy Bitsy Spider', as he wasn't in the mood for an astronomy lesson at 4am.

"What are they, little one?"

"They're hyja-gin."

"Hyja-gin," he repeated with a smile. Damn precocious child had been hanging around Simon and River too long. "Sounds like a moonshine liquor. No wonder they burn so bright. Are you gonna keep interrupting me or are you going to let me sing?"

"Both," she answered tersely, squirming as he tickled her tummy. "You just sing, Baba. You just sing."

-----

**PART 6: HE PRAYED**

Mal was having an out of body experience – watching his forlorn self as he watched her. The evening was quiet, the only motion being the steady blink of the monitors in the Infirmary, back-dropped by the thunderous roar of the engines as Serenity made a hard burn for a world with a decent hospital.

Inara stood next to the bed, holding Little Zoë's hand, stroking her hair while she slept. His wife's eyes were rimmed with the dark circles of sleeplessness and worry. Every time he remembered to breathe, the chill, stale air entered his lungs like illegal immigrants rushing the border.

He blamed himself. Why had he not noticed? How easily she became winded, how tired she seemed. A cancer. Treatable, Simon assured, but she needed proper care. A hospital. Something Mal had never provided her, though he'd tried to give her everything.

Mal steeled himself for the journey, waiting for something to go wrong – for an unexpected delay that would leave his little girl dead before they reached help. Little Zoë had assured him, with her mother's strength and her father's good humor, that she'd be fine. But as he watched her shallow breathing and the way her mouth contorted in pain while she slept, he wasn't so sure. He couldn't help but fear that she'd die in the same cold, infirmary bed as her mother.

When it was just his life and death, he didn't believe in God. When it was his crew, he figured they could make their own peace. But now that it was his little Zoë, it was worth a plea.

"God," he choked tentatively. Not remembering how to pray, he decided to just speak plainly.

"I don't think you're real and even if you answer this, I can't promise I'll change my mind. But God, please be real. Please. Please look at her."

He was back there again. Serenity Valley. His angels flying away, abandoning him. This was crazy! He hated God for the war. If he'd still believed in God, he'd hate him for taking away his best friend. So why was he willing to crawl back to prayer on behalf of little Zoë? Mal took to pacing, the motion in his legs loosening his tongue. He wasn't crazy. He was just having a conversation with an invisible, imaginary being. Just trying to work things out.

His eyes fixed on Little Zoë, his legs still moving, he spoke again. "Can you see my little one? She's so tired and so scared. It's not something I can protect her from. Not something I can hold a gun to… God, please don't take her from me. If you're thirsty for blood, take my life, not hers. Not hers, God, please. Please let her live."

Mal's heart and flesh collided again as Inara exited the Infirmary and took his hand. She was exhausted. They both were. He cleared his throat and hugged her close, knowing she'd spent the last hour praying to her own god. Perhaps between the two of them, someone would hear and help. Hope against hope. For as long as she still breathed. He watched his little girl and he prayed again.

-----


	3. Terse

**PART 7: HE WORKED**

Mal balanced and reclined as best he could in the stiff hospital chair, Little Zoë asleep on his lap. The color had returned to her face, but her shoulders still slumped, having carried more weight in the past three months than any five-year-old should ever be asked to carry. Thanks to Simon's top-three-percent medical expertise and his connections to core physicians, Little Zoë had received cutting edge treatment and was recovering quickly. The only reason they were still in the hospital was that Serenity was not clean enough for her weakened immune system. It broke his heart that the home he had provided, the ship he loved, was not safe for his little girl.

Mal rocked Little Zoë in his arms, enveloped in her recovery, giving only the vaguest attention to Jayne as he spoke. Jayne had come in a half hour ago, looking unbalanced with all his weapons concealed (as hospitals weren't prone to allowing heavily armed mercenaries roam the corridors) and begun his speech with his lifelong mantra.

"Mal, we need coin."

It was about there that Mal had stopped listening. The need for income was just one more plague on his existence. Hospital bills, port taxes, food. Even if he sold his boat, that would only buy a few more days planet-side. He didn't even want to dwell on the new mouth he'd be feeding in eight months time... Well, maybe he could dwell on his and Inara's coming baby for a moment. Erase all the fear, insecurity, and poverty, and hold on to the promise of happiness.

"We can't wait much more." Jayne's voice cut through the promise with his own take on reality. Mal shifted the sleeping Zoë so she wouldn't put his whole left arm out, and he thought of his crew. They hovered in his memory, separated from the current situation by a lifetime and then some. He needed to disband and let them go their own way. They all wanted to stay together, Mal knew; and if he didn't Jayne was here to remind him.

"Mal, you can't afford to set here and do nothin'. You gotta provide for your family."

Mal shuddered a breath, keeping his gaze firmly out the window away from Jayne. Away from hospital bills and port taxes and thoughts of disbanding the crew. Away to the farthest reaches of the Black where he wouldn't be hounded by governments or waiting for angels that never came. Away to where he was responsible to no one and for no one. Away.

Zoë coughed in her sleep, forcing Mal back into the hospital room and Jayne's gou cao de reality check. But Jayne wasn't talking about problems anymore.

"You ain't alone in this, Mal. You got options," he assured, and Mal listened through slightly less fog. "I got a contact about a job. Good take, given Serenity's reputation. If you can't fathom leaving this world, rent the ship out to me, I'll take the crew, and we'll get the job done. Two weeks, three tops, you got yourself a decent paycheck. If you wanna come along … well, then I don't need to go hire a second gun hand."

Jayne paused and Mal looked at him carefully. How bizarre was this man before him. It hadn't been the shallow plea for money and ultimatum he'd expected. When had this stranger surfaced? Jayne organizing a job? Jayne leading the crew? In truth, Jayne had started picking up the role of first mate from the moment Zoë died. There had been no maneuvering for authority or talk of the chain of command. He'd just done it. As Mal had mourned and adjusted to being a full time parent, Jayne had taken the task of assigning chores and watch duty. Where once was a man who had promised imminent betrayal on more than one occasion, Mal now saw a friend. A brother, even. When had that occurred?

"Just think about it, Mal," Jayne reiterated, reaching out and touching Little Zoë's cheek. The girl stirred softly, twisting about to give Mal a kiss on the cheek as she stretched.

"Hey, Uncle Jayne."

"Hey, baby girl."

And there was Mal's answer in Jayne's eyes. When Little Zoë called him 'Uncle', he saw in Jayne the same swell of joy he felt every time she called him 'Baba.' Since Miranda, they'd been friends. Since Zoë, they'd been family.

Little Zoë crawled from Mal's lap into Jayne's, leaving him cold.

"Uncle Jayne, can you fly me?"

Mal tensed. He always hated it when Jayne bench-pressed Zoë. Jayne had only dropped her the one time and while Zoë was forgiving, Mal was wary.

"I don't know," Jayne teased, turning her in his hands like a salt shaker, making her giggle. "You're getting mighty big."

"Please, Uncle Jayne."

With a mock grunt, Jayne hefted her over his head, swaying her easily from side-to-side. Mal fought the urge to hold out a hand and help and just watched as Zoë squealed in delight.

"Did I ever tell you about the time your daddy pulled a Crazy Ivan to escape the Reavers?"

And that's why Mal never stopped this particular game. Zoë always laughed and listened eagerly to the tales Jayne told and the girl deserved to hear about her father. As the story progressed and Zoë continued to fly over Jayne's head, Mal noted that she wasn't in any pain, nor was she out-of-breath. Her healing was sure. She wasn't going to die tonight or any time soon. It was okay for him to leave this world. To work. To provide for her like he should.

When the story finally ended, Mal nudged Jayne's shoulder. "When is this meet again?"

"Three hours. If you take point, I can stand there an' look intimidating."

Mal smiled lightly. "You've always been good at that."

-----

**PART 8: HE FELL OUT OF HIS CHAIR**

Mal was surprised to get a wave from Inara so soon after finishing a job and immediately worried that something was wrong. He hated leaving his six-and-a-half month pregnant wife on a planet a good million miles away. Serenity was half a day ahead of schedule, but still five days out. His tension melted somewhat when he saw Little Zoë staring at him through the vid, moon-eyed as though she'd just been punished. He put on his stern father face, ready to berate her for sending a wave without permission.

"Hey, Little Zoë," he greeted neutrally, nursing a cup of coffee. The job was done; he may as well chat a little and chastise himself for going soft.

"Baba, can I walk to the store and buy some peanut butter?"

Terse. Straight to business, just like her momma. Mal rolled his eyes, accustomed to Little Zoë's authority evasion techniques. "What does Mama 'Nara say?"

Zoë shifted uncomfortably and looked at her hands. "She said not to call you."

"So why are you callin' me, Zo?"

"Because I'm hungry," the little girl whined. "And I don't know how to make nothin' else."

"I bet if you ask real nice, Mama 'Nara will make you somethin'."

"She isn't here, Baba," Zoë carped, condescendingly. "She's at the hospital having her baby."

Heart! Stop! What?!!! Mal spit his drink at the screen and fell out of his chair, his mind reeling, his blood pumping so hard it felt ready to burst through his skin. Coughing to clear the half-swallowed drink from his lung, he climbed back into the seat and wiped the vid-screen with his sleeve.

"Baba?" She spoke with the same stoic calm as her mother had in such panic-worthy situations.

"I'm here, Zo," he gagged.

"Can I go?"

"Zo, when did Mama 'Nara leave for the hospital?" Blood pounded through his ears, muffling her response; his hands frantically flew over the console trying to connect with the hospital on a second line.

Zoë shrugged, nonplussed. "I dunno. Before we ran out of peanut butter."

"How many sandwiches ago?"

Zoë sighed and counted impatiently on her fingers. "Four. Two with bananas, but we ran out of those, too. Baba, I'm hungry."

"I know ya are, Little One, and I promise to get you food as soon as I can, but first you need to tell me what happened to Mama 'Nara."

"She'll be mad because I called before your job finished."

"My job is done now, Zo, you can tell me."

"She was screamin' and bleedin' and I called the doctor and they took her in an ambulance."

Ambulance! Mal gave up on the hospital switchboard and checked his bank account, figuring he could trace Inara faster through hospital charges. With one hand, he called up Simon to interpret the medical jargon.

"And you got left?" Mal prompted.

"I locked the door behind 'em, Baba. They never knowed I was here."

Mal whimpered a pained laugh. It occurred to him that Little Zoë had hidden from far too many sinister, evil lawmen and he needed to have a talk with her about trust. Later. Now he needed to focus. Get Simon up here to interpret the medical charges. Find status of Inara and baby. Find someone to check in on Little Zoë. Hard burn! His mind was a blur wondering what might be happening to Inara to make her leave Zoë behind like that.

"Baba, did I do something bad?"

"No, darlin', you did everything just right. You sit tight and I'll get someone over there as soon as I can."

"Can it be Nurse Rhinehart?" Zoë asked, her eyes lighting up. Mal let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The request relieved him because as of that moment his mind was racing too fast to think of individual names.

"I'll try her first," he assured, a comforting smile masking his panic. Where was Simon?

"Wo ai ni, Baba."

"I love you too, Little Zoë."

-----

**PART 9: HE CAME RUNNING**

Little Zoë had been missing for three days. Mal nearly fainted when he heard the news. He'd just run from the hospital ward where Inara was still recovering to the NICU where his unnamed son was sleeping and was hoping to find a sweet, little smile in the children's ward where Nurse Rhinehart had promised to keep Little Zoë while she worked.

"I've looked all over, I called the police, I tried to contact you over and over," the young nurse gushed frantically. "I don't know why she'd just run off like that."

"Did you say something to her? About 'Nara? About the baby? About… the declining sales of peanut butter on the eastern continent?" Mal demanded as he scanned the ward for signs of his little girl. But Little Zoë had spent a fair part of the last year here and knew all the dark pockets. He knew he wouldn't just spot her.

"We went to visit Mrs. Reynolds that day, she was a little quiet after. But she's always so terse." The nurse was near tears at having to explain the story again, reliving the fear. "Security has her picture, but no one has seen her."

"Girl knows how to hide," Mal commented, trying to stay calm, giving the nurse a forgiving pat on the shoulder. She had to still be here; otherwise she would've called him again and asked permission to leave.

"Zoë!" he shouted, striding through the corridors determinedly.

"We tried that," the nurse cried, rushing behind him to keep up. He yelled her name again. Pausing beside a cart toting food trays, Mal sniffed and considered the hot lunches that were currently being distributed.

"Any of these go missin' today?"

The nurse shrugged, tearfully. "I'm not sure. We—"

"Shhh!" Mal hushed, crouching to listen. One of the ceiling tiles half way down the hall shifted minutely. Mal reached up and punched out the tile next to it. "Zoë?"

The tiles shifted again and Zoë's caramel face peaked out, her hair covered with dust and lint, her face stained with dried up tears. She held a stolen food tray in one hand and crumbs of bread stuck to the corners of her mouth. She put one finger to her thin, little lips, warning Mal to be quiet.

"It's safe to come down now. I'm here," he assured, reaching up his arms. Cautiously, she peaked over the edge of the ceiling and on seeing only the crying nurse and Mal, handed down her food tray first. Mal reached out his arms and let her fall into them.

"What were ya doin' up there?" he asked, rocking her slowly as she clung to him, curling in a ball.

"The doctor said he was gonna call child services and they were gonna get me out of his hair."

"Which doctor said that?"

"Baba, he didn't even have hair," she complained. He tried unsuccessfully to brush the lint off of her with his fingers, but finally gave up.

"Well I got you now, and you ain't going nowhere." She nodded tiredly and sneezed as the dust swirled around her head. Serenity was definitely cleaner than this. If she was well enough to hide in the ceiling tiles, they'd be spaceborn again soon.

"How about we visit your little brother?"

"Cole."

"What's that?" Mal asked, wondering if it was a yes or no.

"I named him Cole. Because he has dark hair like Mama 'Nara."

-----


	4. His Angel

**PART 10: HE RECOVERED**

Red blood.

Waves of black nothingness.

An all-consuming ocean, a rip current sucking him further and further from consciousness. Crushing waves of pounding blood, their roar drowned out by sharp shrieks of pain coming from somewhere below his belly. His body screamed, fighting to die, even as his crew fought to save him. Through the deafening cries within, his ears picked up a faint melody from the world outside.

"_Twinkle, twinkle, great big star. Hydrogen is what you are._"

Coughing up consciousness like bad food, Mal's eyes blinked opened only to be blinded by a painful, white light. Had he been wrong about God? Was he dead? Was that sweet music really an angel's song? He didn't deserve such from death.

"_Mama 'Nara, he's wakin' up_," Little Zoë's voice floated through the fog of his afterlife. The light burning the back of his eyelids dimmed and he opened his eyes again, this time able to make out the vague silhouette of his family. Little Zoë lay on the bed next to him, putting a nauseating bit pressure on his injured shoulder. Inara hovered like an angel, baby Cole in her arms, back-dropped by the far too familiar Infirmary ceiling.

"Ease up, Zo," Mal choked, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. She slid off the bed, finding a chair to stand on instead so she could still see him. The pressure gone, Mal took a deep breath and tried to remember what had happened.

"Jayne? River?"

"They're fine," Inara assured, touching his cheek. He sighed easily, the pain in his body momentarily forgotten on feeling his angel's skin on his face. Her tenderness was like a cool, refreshing breeze through his entire body, the sound of her voice like honey. He shivered in pleasure, wanting her to speak again.

"'Nara."

"Shh. Don't talk," she soothed, her voice a mixture of old concern and new relief. He was mesmerized now by the sweet melody of her speech and sent the first willing hand he could control up to touch her lips. She found his hand as it groped the air, kissed his palm, then pressed it against her heart, laying baby Cole on top to seal the connection. She swayed lightly, more for the baby than for him, but Mal closed his eyes, relaxed.

Little Zoë propped her elbows on the corner of his pillow, resting one hand in his hair, and she started singing again. And as the raft of his consciousness drifted slowly back to the dreamy sea, Inara kept hold of his hand, guiding him to recover.

-----

**PART 11: HE BREATHED**

Mal and Inara sat at the kitchen table, mapping out the next job as the babies toddled around the enclosed lounge area. Simon and Kaylee's twins were just a year younger than Cole, and though they weren't yet stable on their feet, they were prone to climbing over any and all protective fencing. Kaylee always teased that they'd inherited the escaping gene from their fugitive father. Jayne helped Little Zoë in the galley, making peanut butter sandwiches for everyone before all the bread went bad. The bread had been a present for her eighth birthday and a welcome reprieve from the normal protein mash.

"I finally got that printer working," Simon chirped, waving a printout as he entered the galley

"I wanna see," Zoë squealed, running to the table to look over Mal's shoulder as Simon laid the picture down in the middle.

"Where is he?" Jayne asked grumpily, taking two sandwiches before setting the plate on the table.

Mal was at a loss as well; the black and white swirls could easily have been a Rorschach test in still frame. But given the age of the equipment they could afford, this was the best picture he had of his coming son. Instinctively, he touched Inara's growing stomach, wondering when the first kick would come.

"That's him there," Simon answered, tracing an outline. Mal believed it for a moment but as soon as Simon's hand left the paper, he blinked and lost it again. Still, he smiled, seeing Inara beaming proudly.

Inara picked up the photo and breezed out of the room, leaving him with only a light kiss on the cheek and the excuse that she wanted to show Kaylee. Mal watched happily the sway of her hips as she walked. The grace she managed to possess in spite of pregnancy-swollen ankles. He hardly noticed Jayne pulling the map he'd been pondering and carrying it to the cockpit to consult with River.

"You ready to be a father again?" Simon asked, taking a sandwich as he sat at the table across from Mal.

Mal pulled Zoë onto his lap and kissed her cheek as she took a bite of her sandwich. "This is the last one," Mal said firmly. "No more."

"Isn't that what you said last time?"

"Yes, but Sake is evil." Mal turned seriously to Zoë. "Remember that, Little One. Sake is evil."

"Sake is evil," she repeated with a giggle.

"If you want, we could take more permanent measures…"

Mal's groin twitched protectively and he shook his head. "No thanks, Doc, I—"

His excuse was cut off by a loud explosion from the engine room followed by a deep rumble through the ship.

"Inara! Kaylee!" Mal shouted, tossing Zoë from his lap and running toward the sound. Jayne and Simon were at his heels in a heartbeat, Jayne with a fire extinguisher, plowing through the flames into the engine room. Mal felt the heat on his skin and smoke in his lungs as he got closer, and he put a sleeve over his nose, holding his breath until the room turned to stars. Only from years of practice was his head cool enough for action, dropping below the smoke, finding, reaching, carrying.

When they'd pulled the women out, Mal sealed the door to the engine room and activated fire suppression. The hallway felt surreally cool, free of the smoke. Simon worked frantically assessing burns, River appearing from nowhere with his medkit. Inara's face was ashen and covered with black soot, her fist clenching the charred photo of their son. Mal held his breath waiting for the Doctor's prognosis, the cold air touching his skin, but not entering his mouth. But when Inara coughed violently, sucking in lungs full of oxygen, Mal started breathing again too.

-----

**PART 12: HE WONDERED**

"Baba, it's time," Little Zoë informed him with stoic calm, poking her head through the door.

Mal looked up from the story book he was reading to two-year-old Cole in surprise. "Time for what, Zo? I'm puttin' your brother to bed."

"Mama 'Nara's baby is comin'. I called Uncle Simon." She sounded so matter-of-fact, Mal wondered at the similarity between her and her momma. Having delivered her message, Zoë turned curtly, and left.

Taking his time, Mal kissed Cole, laid him in the crib, and set the baby monitor before following Zoë down the hall to the room where he and Inara had taken up temporary residence. River had jokingly hung a sign on the door saying 'Maternity Suite,' and the crew had added their own messages of congratulations and what not around the words.

When he entered the room, Inara was pacing the length, one hand on her stomach, breathing deliberately through her mouth. Little Zoë sat on the bed, leaning back on her hands, watching calmly.

"You okay?"

"Braxton-Hicks," Inara said between breaths. Zoë met his eye and shook her head, but Mal was inclined to side with Inara on this as she was still six weeks from due.

Simon knocked tentatively on the door and peaked in.

"I'm fine, Doctor," Inara assured before he could ask. Her breathing had calmed and Mal escorted her to the bed so she could sit.

Little Zoë folded her arms across her chest resolutely. "I seen all the babies born on this ship, Mama 'Nara. I know what it looks like when they're ready to come out."

Mal suppressed a smile that quickly became a wince as Inara's grip on his hand tightened. She was having a contraction – a real one, by Simon's response. He swallowed a mixture of excitement and nerves, grimacing as Inara cried out. He'd missed Cole's birth, and when the first gush of blood and water came out, he started wishing he could miss a little bit more of this one too.

"Zo, why don't you wait outside," he suggested weakly, glad he was already sitting. But Little Zoë watched eagerly, her face filled with wonder as Simon worked.

"It's okay, Baba, I've seen this part before. I wanna see what happens next."

A smile spilled across her lips, her awe contagious. She seemed to know better than he did that something wonderful was coming. But then, her hand wasn't being crushed by a woman in labor.

-----


	5. First Job

**PART 13: HE PAID HER**

Mal balanced Little Michael on his lap, coaxing him to stand, while Kaylee sat cross-legged in the lounge, telling Genevieve that she had to share the red crayon with her brother. Jamie's round, red face was scrunched in desperation as he begged, "Please, Genny, please."

Little Michael's knees bent stubbornly trying to sit and Mal sighed. At a year-and-a-half, he should be standing, but the boy seemed to have absolutely no interest. He certainly had the strength when he wanted to. As Mal held his tiny fists up again, the boy lifted his legs and swung monkey-like onto the dining table, knocking over a place setting.

"Come on, Michael," Mal whined, setting his spilled mug upright as the Michael crawled away. The boy turned and gave a mischievous smile at the sound of his own name. He picked up the mug and held it out to Mal.

"Mug," Mal told him, taking the cup and setting it down. Michael picked it up again and prompted. Mal repeated the word. With a wide smile, Michael made a drinking motion, dumping the last few drops of liquid onto his shirt, breaking into silent giggles when Mal tickled him. Michael rarely made noise, even to cry. Simon had fitted him with a hearing aid a few months ago – as soon as they could afford one – but the soundscape was still new to him, and he was reluctant to join in just yet.

Having resolved her own children's conflict, Kaylee glided over with a dish rag to wipe up Mal's spilled tea. This time, Michael didn't resist Mal's attempt to make him stand, and he reached up on tiptoes, grabbing at Kaylee's hair.

"Maybe you just need to dangle a carrot," Kaylee suggested, a sunshiny smile radiating from her face as she kissed Michael's nose. Mal smiled back, helping to free her ensnared locks from his son's grasp.

"Baba, we need to talk," Little Zoë interrupted seriously, standing in the doorway to the galley, looking all business at the age of almost-nine. (It was Mal who insisted on the 'almost' bit.) Kaylee raised an eyebrow at Mal and went quietly to the kitchen to prepare lunch, keeping one ear open for eavesdropping.

"Sure, Zo, what is it?" Mal asked, motioning to the seat next to him.

Zoë strode in assertively and sat at the edge of the chair, her feet barely grazing the floor, her back straight as she could make it, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Mal started to think that maybe Inara had coached her for this particular talk.

"I'm just a kid," Zoë began matter-of-factly and Mal had to fight to keep a straight face, but nodded, businesslike. "But it seems I do an awful lot of work around here."

"That's how it is in the Black, Zoë. We all have to do our fair share."

"I'm not talking about chores, Baba. Whenever you go out on a job or something strange happens, you always tell me to look out for my brothers. And look out for the twins."

Mal furrowed his brow, not seeing where this was going. "Zo, that's just part of bein' in this family. Everyone on this ship has a job to do, especially when we're gettin' paid."

"Exactly, Baba. But I'm the only one with a job who ain't gettin' paid."

Mal balked, his jaw dropping, an incredulous laugh just moments from reality, but he held back in light of Zoë's stern manner. "You want me to make the job official then?"

Little Zoë nodded seriously. Mal thought he would burst with amusement. "Ok, Zoë. It's official. When we're on a job, it is your responsibility to keep the little ones safe, dong ma?"

Zoë nodded.

"So am I payin' you per job?"

Zoë tipped her head. "I was thinking a monthly fee for standard hours. Plus overtime if you and Mama 'Nara are just takin' a night off."

"Sounds fair," Mal agreed. Zoë reached out a hand and he shook it to seal the deal, then she walked proudly out of the room, presumably to tell Inara that the plan had worked. When she was safely out of earshot, Mal glanced over at Kaylee and they both burst out laughing.

-----

**PART 14: HE TOOK A RISK**

Mal's mouth watered at the smell of whatever Sky was cooking for breakfast. He hadn't hired her for her culinary skills. That was just a bonus. Jayne stumbled in, stretching and rubbing sleep from his eyes, groaning in anticipation at the scent of the food. A greedy leer falling on his face, he came up behind Sky, snaked his arms around her waist, and planted a kiss on her neck. She smiled accommodatingly, bringing her stirring spoon to his lips so he could taste.

Mal didn't even know Sky's real name, but he figured Jayne did by now. Jayne and Sky were cut from the same cloth, and freakishly so at times. In gunfights, Mal would easily have believed they developed a psychic connection, moving in threatening rhythm like pack wolves. Between fights, they looked anything but threatening, her voice a sweet mezzo soprano, singing along as he played guitar. Or now, as they hung on each other like the lovers they were.

Sky turned off the stove and moved the liquidy, seasoned, protein concoction off the burner to cool. Jayne stayed wrapped around her, looking ready to fall asleep on her shoulder and Mal thought he had never seen Jayne more content.

"Sky can you help me with the press regulator," Kaylee asked, poking her head into the room.

"Sure, girl," Sky answered, disentangling herself from Jayne and heading out. Mechanical aptitude had been another bonus of hiring her, and Kaylee was not reluctant to tell Mal (over and over) how much she appreciated the help. At the door, Sky turned back and warned Jayne, "Don't touch it until I get back."

Jayne looked grumpily at the cooling breakfast, then came over to the table to sit next to Mal and soak in the aroma of the food.

"You thinkin' to marry her?" Mal asked.

"Naw, I figure we'll just keep livin' in sin till the Good Lord strikes us down," Jayne joked, failing to mask a satisfied sigh.

"He'll get a fair chance on this next job," Mal warned, a bit of serious foreboding leaking into their humor. Hiring Sky meant they could handle harder jobs with bigger takes, though it also meant more risk.

"It's worth the risk," Jayne grinned, fingering his empty bowl, not clear on whether he meant the job or Sky. "Maybe safer to get the kids off the boat, though."

Mal nodded, brooding over the unlovely reputation of their current employer. This take would be enough to pay off the last of Little Zoë's hospital bills, get proper treatment for Michael's hearing, and still have enough left over for a month long shore leave. The peril wasn't in the job itself but in the people they were stealing from and stealing for. Jayne was right. It was best to get them off the boat for this run.

-----

**PART 15: HE LOST HER**

The job had gone too easily and now Mal knew why. He searched frantically through the wreckage of the safe house for any sign of Inara or the children. Not even a drop of blood. Not a sign. Had they even been here when this place was torn apart? Would there be a ransom demand or had they already been sold off as slaves?

He could hear Kaylee upstairs, crying hysterically, being firmly ignored by the others as they checked the safe-rooms, false walls, hidden passages, or anywhere else that small children might fit.

"She's not here," River said mournfully, coming down the stairs. Mal stood in the middle of a rubble pile, having forgotten to move for the past few minutes. At River's word, his heart stopped. His angel flew away from him. The light receded. Serenity Valley.

He whispered her name. "Inara."

"She's not safe," River promised, tears in her eyes.

"Mal!" Jayne hollered, storming down the stairs. "I found one!"

Mal turned so sharply, he nearly fell over, tripping on a broken bed frame.

"Baba!" Cole cried, throwing up his hands with joy. Jayne held him securely at the foot of the stairs as Mal stumbled through the debris. Cole's dark hair was oily, his face and clothes dirty, his lips dry. He held a small pistol in one hand, but only loosely.

"Boy, what are you doin' here?" Mal asked gently, taking Cole in his arms and hugging him tightly.

"Zoë sent me to look for you," he explained simply. "She sends me every day because I'm the man of the house now."

"Zoë?" Mal repeated, a glimmer of hope coming for the first time. "Where is she, son?"

Cheerfully unaware of their distress, Cole led them out a narrow passage from the basement to the end of the back yard. From there, they followed him into a sparse woods, across a golf course, over a narrow, log bridge, and into another wood. The group traveled in silence, holding a collective breath, hoping against hope to find them well. Through a clearing just ahead, at the entrance to a cave, Mal could make out Zoë, kneeling on the ground, setting out a picnic for the children, singing them a song. Mal's step quickened, cracking the tree branches, pushing the rattling bushes aside. When Little Zoë heard their approach, she jumped quickly to her feet, drawing a Mare's Leg, and taking aim.

"Zoë, they're here!" Cole cried out, at which point she dropped her weapon and ran straight into Mal's arms. Mal lifted her up, then fell to his knees, unable to catch his breath as the fear and relief simultaneously flooded through him. Little Zoë sobbed and held on as tightly as she could.

"I tried to help, Baba," Zoë wept. "But I had to get the little ones safe first. By the time I got back, Mama 'Nara… she…"

Mal felt a lump growing in his throat, but stored his grief for later, focusing now on getting the children safe. "It's okay, Little Zoë. You did good. You kept the little ones safe till I got here. That's what I pay you for, right?"

Little Zoë nodded miserably and Mal lifted her again, carrying her back to Serenity, wishing away this burden on her childhood. He looked constantly from her to his two sons, one in Sky's arms the other in Jayne's. Kaylee held Genny on one arm, her free hand reaching over to Jamie who was in Simon's, vowing that she wouldn't leave them again. All the children seemed calm and well-cared-for, seemingly none aware of the true danger they had been in. Only Zoë wept now, finally free to be a little girl again, free to fear, free to take comfort in her father's arms.

"Baba," Zoë hiccupped, sniffling. "Can I have tomorrow off?"

-----


	6. His Women

**PART 16: HE FOUND HER**

Mal stood in the Infirmary, watching Inara as she slept. Two-year-old Michael yawned on his shoulder, while Zoë and Cole stood on tiptoes trying to see her face. It had taken six months to find her. Six months and he'd found her broken. Though her stomach was relatively flat, he was convinced he could see the glow of new motherhood on her. Those hun dan had raped her over and over, even after she became pregnant. Pregnant and broken. Her lucid periods were getting longer now; hopefully long enough to satisfy the children. He'd kept them away from her until today, knowing it would hurt them more to see her broken than to not see her at all. It hurt him so much to see. Was this how she felt every time he nearly died on a job?

"Mama," Michael whispered, more in Mal's ear than to Inara. Mal teared-up at the sound of his son's voice. Inara had missed his first words, his first steps; but she stirred when he said her name.

Her eyes fluttered open and the children collectively inhaled as if watching an angel awake. At least that was the joy Mal felt when her eyes met his. Present one moment, vacant the next, but she recognized him now more than before.

"Mommy!" Cole cried and Zoë lifted him onto the bed so he could give his mother a hug. Inara closed her eyes and leaned her head against his, but no smile came to her face. Little Zoë took Inara's hand as delicately as if it would break off from too much pressure. For a brief moment, as Cole caught Inara up on the latest ship news and Zoë chimed in with addendums, Mal saw peace on her face, and he felt hope. But only a brief moment. Inara's eyes shot open again, brown orbs glistening with fear and intensity, caught in the past.

"No more," Inara whispered sharply. Confused, Cole stopped speaking, his mouth hanging open with unsaid tales.

"Zo," Mal warned cautiously, handing over Michael and lifting Cole off the bed. "Take your brothers to the galley and send Uncle Simon down here."

"Mal," Inara gasped again.

"I hear ya, 'Nara." He moved more quickly now.

"But daddy," Cole protested as Mal directed him out by the shoulder. Without a word, Zoë shifted Michael to one arm, then took Cole's hand and led them out. When they were up the stairs and out of sight, Mal turned back to Inara.

"Get it out of me," she pleaded.

Mal bent down so that his face was near hers, trying to keep her calm. "You're already pretty far along, 'Nara. It's safer to wait."

She didn't seem appeased by that.

"Serenity babies have a habit of bein' preemies. It'll be out of you soon."

"I don't want it!" she wailed. "I don't want it in me! Get it out now!"

"Shh, shh," Mal soothed, stroking her hair, feeling hot tears building in his own eyes. Her distress was contagious, her breathing labored, racked by sobs. Without warning, she jerked his arm spinning him around, and taking his gun in one fluid movement.

"Get out!" she cried, pointing the weapon at her own belly.

"Inara!" Desperately, he grabbed the gun, angling it upwards and taking it from her. Her arms felt like jelly in his hand, all sobs, no life. Tucking the gun safely in his boot, he leaned next to her again, taking both her hands in his and hugging her close.

"Soon as the Doc gets here," Mal promised, sitting her up so he could hold her. "Soon as he gets here, we'll get it out of you."

-----

**PART 17: HE HELD HER**

Mal was so exhausted from the events of the past week, that he hardly noticed Inara leaving the bed. Since her return, she tended to roam the ship at night, wandering the halls like a ghost, checking in on the children, sitting on the catwalk and reliving conversations they'd had years ago. Mal had followed her for the first several nights, his heart breaking as she stared at the empty cargo hold, drinking wine that wasn't there, whispering "Why would I want to leave Serenity?"

The walks, he had determined, were harmless and as the nights progressed, she'd returned to bed sooner and sooner. Mal rolled to the middle of the bed, inhaling her scent on the pillows, ready to welcome her back to sleep when she arrived.

"Baba!" Zoë's piercing shriek shot through the ship like an air-raid siren, sending chills through his spine.

Heart pounding, Mal burst into the hallway and charged down the stairs to the children's quarters. His breath quickened, worried that Inara may have lost her head and tried to hurt Zoë.

"Zoë!" Mal hollered, seeing her room open and empty. He strode determinedly down the hall, his eyes alert.

"Mama, stop it," Zoë whimpered, drawing Mal's eyes to the Infirmary. Inara's eyes were glazed, her right hand holding a scalpel. Zoë stood pressed against Inara's stomach facing out, both her hands clenched around Inara's wrist, holding the sharp blade away from their bodies. Both Inara and Little Zoë were smeared with blood, though whose was a mystery.

"Please, Mama, let go."

Mal entered quickly, but cautiously, taking hold of Inara's wrist and finding the pressure point that made her drop the scalpel. Her eyes suddenly locked on his, calling him betrayer as he held her wrist in the air, but not fighting. Zoë snaked out of the face off, hiding behind Mal, letting him see that the blood was Inara's. The cut went across her abdomen, right through her night gown.

"Get it out," Inara begged, her eyes wild and desperate. Mal pulled her into an embrace, feeling her hot blood pulsing onto his body. "Mal, get it out!"

"It is out, Inara. We already did that. It's out of you. It's out."

She sobbed and bled on him and he fought with himself on whether to hold her a little longer or start patching her up. Little Zoë put her arms around the two of them, squeezing them closer together, her arms trembling.

"Is Mama 'Nara ever gonna be okay?" she asked.

Mal held his angel – his broken angel – and prayed she would.

-----

**PART 18: HIS JAW DROPPED**

Mal was drawn to the sweet sound of all his girls gathered in one place, talking excitedly. Little Zoë had been upset earlier and she and Inara had spent the afternoon talking. It pleased Mal to no end to see his wife behaving as a mother again, helping Zoë through the drama of the week, as she was now prone to having. He was even more pleased by the joy bubbling up through the cargo bay like fizz from a champagne bottle.

They'd pulled the red couch into the middle of the room, surrounding the area with small tables and mirrors, making it look like a salon. Inara patiently combed and braided Little Zoë's hair, while Kaylee cheerfully laid out a selection of nail polish. Sky sat on the floor facing them, reclining on one hand, holding a capture in the other, telling everyone to smile and say something profound for posterity. He noticed that Little Zoë was wearing her momma's old, brown, leather vest. The straps on the side were tightened as far as they would go and still it hung loosely on her body; but she would grow into it. She fingered the vest excitedly, listening to stories of her mother as Inara braided and Kaylee began painting her toes.

Mal smiled and watched, leaning easily against a bulkhead, letting their joy rain over him like a warm shower. River stepped out of the galley carrying a tray of cheese and crackers and a bottle of wine. She caught Mal's eye and shook her head.

"A floral bonnet won't buy you an invite," she chided, her lips parting in a smile.

"Come on, Aunt River! You're missing the fun!" Zoë called up, blowing a kiss to Mal when she saw him.

"Is this a girls night?" Mal asked River, a twinkle in his eye. "Is that why I wasn't invited?"

River's smile turned mysterious as she walked gracefully down the stairs. "Not girls. Women."

Mal watched the scene again, as River's words took a leisurely stroll to the comprehension centers of his brain. His jaw dropped as he understood River's meaning and he looked again at the collection of ladies in the cargo bay. His Little Zoë, now a woman? Dear God, he was not ready for what came next!

-----


	7. Eavesdroppers

**PART 19: HE OVERHEARD**

Mal rubbed his neck, glad that River's psychic ability helped them avoid would-be scavengers, but miffed by the delays that it caused. He longed for the days when he only had to worry about what he saw and not so much about what River could see. He paused outside the door to the galley, hearing Zoë and Jayne talking. Peeking in, he could see Little Zoë cheerlessly helping Jayne wash the dishes, her face pensive. Usually playful to the point of breaking plates, Mal had to wonder what had the two in such a somber mood, so he hung back and eavesdropped.

"Uncle Jayne, how come you don't talk anymore?"

"I talk all the time, girl," Jayne protested, batting some suds in her direction, but failing to invoke a fight.

"I mean about jobs. Why ain't you doin' your job no more?"

"Who says I ain't?"

"I just eavesdrop," Zoë confessed and Mal stifled a laugh, knowing exactly where she got that tendency. The laugh died just as quickly when he started wondering what else she may have overheard.

Zoë continued, "You used to talk all the time over whether a world was dangerous or whether we should keep the ship in the air. Always talkin' about where us kids would be safest."

Mal had to admit, the girl was observant. Jayne had been off his game for awhile now, and Mal hadn't known how to broach the subject. The merc shrugged, concentrating hard on scraping a piece of dried food off the plate he was washing. When he answered, his voice was thick, tinged with guilt. "Guess I figure now the safest place is right where I can see you."

"We used to have safe houses all over. But you haven't sent us to any since Boros. Since Mama 'Nara was taken."

"I seem to recall the Boros house not bein' the safest."

"But it was safer, Uncle Jayne," Zoë protested with soft urgency. "Those men were true evil. You saw 'em! If we weren't at the house, they'd have taken us right off Serenity. Left the ship in a wreck just like they left the house. Spaced you all and found us where we hid and done who knows what. The house was safer. And you showed me that back passage out of the house and I explored just like you told me till I found good water and a place for shelter. Just like you said. Couldn't have been safer even if you were there."

Mal felt a lump growing in his throat as Zoë spoke assurances he never knew she felt. He could hear Jayne clearing his throat, trying to maintain composure.

"You don't have to say that, Zo."

"Uncle Jayne, when you don't talk – when you're not doin' your job like you used to – sometimes I worry that I'm not safe anymore."

"You know that ain't so."

"I know," she answered quietly. "But sometimes I worry."

Mal was glad to hear Jayne pulling her into a hug, because it was all he could do not to run in there and hug her himself.

"You know I'll do anything to keep you safe, baby girl," Jayne assured.

Zoë nuzzled against him and giggled. "Uncle Jayne, I ain't a baby anymore."

"Don't matter. You'll always be my baby girl."

Zoë laughed mischievously and if a smile could be heard, Mal knew he could hear one curling up her lips. "Then will you fly me?"

Jayne laughed a little, squeezing her tight. "May need some help."

Mal peeked around, catching sight of Jayne's hands on Little Zoë's hips, and on a three count, he lifted her to sit on his shoulders. Zoë screeched, ducking so her head wouldn't hit the ceiling.

"I don't recall this ceiling being so short!" she squealed, hugging Jayne's head as he ducked through the door, heading toward the cargo bay.

"Did I ever tell you about the time your daddy did a barn swallow and ate the hover mule right outta the air?"

Mal stepped into the galley, smiling at the memory for Wash's thrilling heroics. Then he followed discreetly so he could hear the end of Jayne's story.

-----

**PART 20: HE DANCED**

Mal sighed happily as he entered their planet-side cabin and was graced by the sound of the Celtic harp. He was glad to be meeting Zoë and Inara at the house rather than the hospital. Little Zoë had recovered from her cancer relapse fairly quickly and she and Inara had spent the last month in the cabin awaiting Serenity's return. Apparently wobbly-headed-geisha dolls had become very popular among cargo scavengers of late.

Inara sat at the dining table, her fingers expertly flitting over the harp strings – a talent she'd picked up in the training house, but only recently could they afford the instrument. She smiled seductively, inviting him to come up behind her, not missing a beat as he danced his fingers through her hair. When the song ended, instead of reaching up for his face, she reached back her fingers delicately flitting over his thighs, playing him as easily as she played the harp. Mal smiled and rocked in rhythm until Cole burst through the back door, tripping over his shoe laces, still panting after the long hike from Serenity to the cabin.

Inara scrunched her nose immediately, her hands leaving Mal's thighs and waving frantically in front of her face as Cole ran up to give her a hug. "Oh, Cole, did your father forget to bathe you all month?"

"We sweat like men. Smell like men!" Cole answered, making his six-year-old voice as gruff and Jayne-like as possible, flexing his little muscles.

Mal steered Cole back a few steps as Inara turned positively green. "Cole collected a pocket full of stink bugs for you on the way here. He thought they were pretty."

"They were pretty!" Cole protested. "Baba made me throw them out. I could draw you a picture."

"I would like that, but run upstairs and take a bath first."

"But I—"

"Do as your Mama says, Cole."

Wrinkling his nose in protest, Cole trudged up the stairs, taking the smell of the stink bug with him.

"Dare I ask where Michael is?"

"I sold him off for cash." Inara swatted him, playfully. "In the garden. Where's my little Zoë?"

"Upstairs, getting ready for her date."

"That date had better be dinner with the crew tonight. They been waitin' to see her."

"They can see her tomorrow at breakfast," Inara countered dismissively, snaking her hands around Mal's thighs again and swaying to the memory of the music.

"Since when does she date?" Mal persisted stubbornly.

"Since about two days after you left."

Mal blew air out of pursed lips, trying to force himself from annoyed to amused. "Is this why you told me not to hurry back?"

"Maybe," she laughed, teasingly, her hands working their way up his backside. This was the problem with women. Wiles and distraction. Two could play at this game. Mal took Inara's hand and spun her out of the chair, pulling her into a dance, even though there was no music. He kissed her nose and her lips, forgetting the world just long enough to be enveloped by joy. What had he been trying to do?

Mal looked up the stair as he and Inara danced. Zoë was standing just near the top in a purple, floral dress, her braids tied back with a sleek ribbon. She hadn't developed all her mother's curves just yet, but Mal swore she'd grown three inches since he saw her last. Or was it the low heels on her sandals. Her makeup was done subtly, clearly guided by Inara's professional training. Little Zoë leaned against the top of the stair railing and watched the dance with a smile. Mal winked back at her. She'd told him once that it was her secret wish to find someone to love just as much as he loved Mama 'Nara. It warmed his heart when she'd said it, and again now as he remembered. Closing his eyes, Mal sank back into the scent of his wife, dancing to a tune that only they could hear.

-----

**PART 21: HE DIDN'T SAY NO**

The next morning, Kaylee and Zoë snuck off with their breakfast to gossip about Zoë's date the night before. Cole, Genny, and Jamie were playing tag while Michael lead River around the yard checking that all the fallen tree branches lay perpendicular to the cabin. Mal helped Inara empty her closet, wondering that she'd packed so much for such a short stay. He was a little annoyed because she was supposed to have been packed before he arrived. She was very particular about how her things went into the trunk. Mal's job right now was to pull things out of the closet and lay them on the bed, wait for her to fill the trunk, and then carry the trunk on his back all the way to Serenity... perhaps he shouldn't have parked so far away. He could always send Jayne to get the mule.

"Simon wants Zoë's latest medical records from the hospital," Mal said, trying to carry ten pairs of shoes at once. He noticed that the trunk was still empty. Inara leaned by the window, considering the array of clothing already splayed across the bed.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about Zoë," Inara said cautiously.

"What about her?" Mal asked, immediately concerned by her tone. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She wants to stay here this summer, just a few more months."

Mal shook his head, dumping the shoes on the bed. "Can't keep payin' rent on this cabin. 'Sides, I think there's another tenant comin' in after us."

"I didn't mean I'd stay with her," Inara explained, uncertainly, finally picking up the first few garments and starting to fold. "There's a summer school. They would match her with a host family. She really wants to go."

"Did you say yes to her already?"

"I said I'd talk to you about it. But I think she should stay."

"How much does it cost?"

"It would be good for her to have friends her own age, and a few new teachers."

Mal stopped with a handful of hosiery and undergarments. He didn't drop anything, but his brain and feet weren't quite moving in unison anymore. "I think I asked about cost?"

"We can afford it."

"We can afford this," Mal began sternly. "But what if she likes it here, wants to come to a boarding school or something. Can we afford that?"

Inara continued packing her clothes, and didn't answer.

"You told her yes, didn't you?"

"I told her I'd talk to you," Inara repeated.

"Use your wiles and all," Mal finished. "Hell, I'd've taken it as a yes."

A smile twitched on Inara's lips, and she touched Mal's hand, causing him to release the hosiery onto the bed.

"You try and tell her no," Inara jested lightly in his ear and pressed against him. "Just try, I dare you."

-----


	8. First Crime

**PART 22: HE BROUGHT HER BACK**

Mal leaned on the rail of the top catwalk, watching his boys play hoop ball with the twins. Michael wasn't much for the competition, but he had deadly aim. Mal noticed it in everything the boy did. He finished every pass, made every shot. Jayne had taken him out one day with a pistol and a target, and the boy could shoot the fleas off a dog's back from 200 yards. Mal had been furious about the venture because Michael was only five and the gun was as big as his head. Cole passed the ball to Genny, but Jamie intercepted and threw a wild shot. Michael caught the rebound and sent the ball straight through the hoop.

Inara came up beside Mal, her fingers dancing up his spine before playing with the hair on the back of his neck. Mal grinned and turned his head to see her coy smile and peach satin dress just begging to be touched. Though she still wore her fancy dresses, Inara rarely put on her jewelry since she'd been abducted. He'd seen a few items sneak back in lately. The occasional bracelet, or a fancy barrette. Today it was a necklace and she flinched a little when he reached out to finger it.

"You miss her," she said soulfully, covering the reaction with conversation. Mal folded his hands politely on the railing and allowed her the space she needed.

"It's been three weeks. She hasn't called."

Inara came next to him on the catwalk, leaning so that their shoulders touched. "It's easy to get absorbed in the world around you. She'll call."

"Back when you were training to be a companion..." It had taken Mal a lot of time to eliminate 'whore' from his vocabulary, but he'd done it for her. "Did you call your parents often?"

"Not really. There were times I'd go months," she laughed, but suppressed it when Mal hung his head in disappointment. Her hand was on his in a moment. "Doesn't mean I forgot them, or stopped loving them, Mal. When it's your family, that's just a given."

Mal sighed, turning his palm up to enclose her hand. He traced the naked ring finger on her left hand, their wedding band stolen by Inara's kidnappers. "I know. It's just her birthday's comin' up."

Inara's empathetic grin deepened. "I'm sure she'll call when she gets the presents."

Mal nodded and smiled, gripping Inara's hand more tightly and turning to face her. "Speakin' of presents, I got one for you."

"For me? But it isn't even my birthday?"

"Oh, good, so I've eliminated one more day from the list. I can't believe I been married to you ten years and you still won't tell me your birthday."

She pressed her palms against his chest mischievously and gave a sweet smile. "You're still a mystery to me," she countered. "It's only fair."

Mal laughed, reaching for the box in his back pocket, pulling her lips into a kiss so she wouldn't see. "I think this birthday thing is the least of your mysteries," he groaned. "And I ain't sure you're ready for this yet, but maybe you can surprise me."

"Surprise you how, husband?"

Oh, his stomach fluttered whenever she called him that. He opened the box for her, revealing a new wedding band, silver swirls embracing an inset diamond. "Will you wear this for me?"

Inara took the box and held it, staring dumbfounded at the ring. She was shaking a little, no longer pressed against him. Mal swallowed thickly, his heart sinking. It had been too soon. Inara clenched her left hand into a fist, trembling at the memory of her old ring being swiped off.

"I can..." Mal began, but choked, not knowing how to finish. Inara looked at him, a dozen emotions playing across her features making her nigh unreadable. She closed her mouth and handed the box back to him, then stretched out her left hand.

"Put it on for me?" she asked meekly, her voice tense with fear and determination. Mal felt shakier than the day he first proposed, but with a nervous smile, he knelt on one knee, took the ring from the box, and slid it onto her finger. The breath that shuddered through her rocked her as deeply as the most intimate touch. Mal stood and hugged her tight, feeling her melt in his arms as though, after all this time, she finally felt safe again. Slowly, but surely, his angel was coming back.

-----

**PART 23: HE ENCOURAGED**

Mal stared out at the black, his finger on the call button, debating whether or not to send the wave. A plastic brachiosaur taunted him from the top of the console, nibbling on a fake palm tree. The brachiosaur had always been Zoë's favorite and River had pulled it from whatever drawer it had been hiding in and placed it on the console to mock him. Or remind him. Impulsively, he hit the call button, and was glad when Little Zoë answered, switching on the vid. She backed away from the screen, settling on the corner of her bed, looking pensive.

"Hey, darlin', why so glum?"

Zoë wiped her eyes, even though there were no tears in them, and forced a smile. "Hey, Baba, just... thinkin'."

"Classes goin' okay?"

Zoë shrugged and looked sideways, then at her hands. "I was thinking about Aunt River."

She hesitated, but Mal waited out the silence, seeing the trouble on her face.

"Do you think ... the people that did that to her... do you think they thought they were helping?"

Mal inhaled slowly, wishing he could ask what brought this up. But Zoë needed him to be straight forward. She needed an answer. Any stalling on his part would make her feel guilty just for asking, and she had a right to ask.

"They knew they weren't helpin' her any. But it's possible they thought they were doin' it to help others."

"Possible," she acknowledged, still looking at her hands, her feet kicking the air. "I don't know how they can do it. They can see a hundred faces of all the people they might be helpin' and all I can see is Aunt River and …"

"Maybe it's easier because they don't know River the way you do."

Zoë nodded, her eyes trailing the border of the vid. "It's different when it's family."

Mal didn't know if he should force a comforting smile, because she didn't seem to be watching him anyway. "They treatin' you all right, Little One?"

"Oh, yes. My host family's really nice," Zoë beamed, her mood swinging faster than a whacked piñata. She swung her legs around on the bed, propping herself up by her elbows, and with a sigh and a smile, showed herself ready to be social. "They made me a cake for my birthday!"

Mal relaxed a little and smiled. "That was nice of 'em."

"And you'll never believe this! I got kicked out of the Mock Trial club last week! How can anyone make a fair judgment if you ain't allowed to ask questions?! That kid lawyer was leadin' us around by the nose and I was the only one seemed to care!"

"They were probably surprised to hear you talkin' so much, you bein' such a quiet soul," Mal teased, enjoying the sound of her voice.

"Teacher said if it had been real life, I'd have been held in contempt. I tell you, I got a lot of contempt for the court system right now."

"Seems doin' right just ain't good enough anymore," Mal agreed.

Zoë giggled and covered her mouth, remembering, and it warmed Mal's heart. "Is anyone else around, Baba?"

"No, darlin', our days are a bit off from yours right now. It's the middle of the night for us."

Zoë sighed, disappointed. "Oh, well. Tell 'em I love 'em, then. I'm off to supper. I miss you, Baba."

"I miss you, too."

She blew him a kiss across the vid, then signed off. Mal stared at the blank screen for a moment, savoring the memory of having her close. How he longed to share her world with her and talk to her every day. Not just because she was his little girl, but because she was starting to get awfully interesting.

-----

**PART 24: HE KEPT HER SECRET**

Mal didn't appreciate being called in from a job to bail Zoë out of trouble. It wasn't her that called him, it was the school, saying she'd violated some contract and could no longer participate in the program. Weren't no cause to treat her like a criminal.

The school's administrative office felt too polished for his dusty attire and he brushed himself off, but held his head high. He saw Zoë sitting stiffly in the waiting area, chin level, eyes firmly forward, looking militant. She always wore her momma's vest when she felt militant.

When he came through the tinted glass doors, she turned and met his eye squarely with an expressionless look. It was amazing how many words that single look carried. It wasn't the affected eye-roll of someone who didn't care she was in trouble. Nor was it the humiliated head duck of someone who knew she'd done wrong. It wasn't the defiant plea of the falsely accused. Whatever she'd done, she'd done purposefully and knowingly and she was convinced she was right to do it. Mal needed no other words to set the tone of his defense. He had her back, but given she'd already been expelled, there would be no cause for making a show.

The program director conferred with Mal for twenty minutes about the importance of the contracts, confidentiality, and ethics. Zoë and Mal both sat quietly through the tirade, Mal nodding occasionally, waiting impatiently for it to end. When the woman mentioned that hundreds of people could now die because of what Zoë did, Mal raised an eye and looked over at her. Little Zoë stared firmly at the back wall, her face fixed with resolution. Mal was itching to hear her side of this story. When at last the director finished, she humbly requested that they not disclose the details of this incident with anyone and had prepared a confidentiality agreement that she slid across the table. Before Mal could take the paper and shred it kindly, Zoë reached across the table and slid it back to the woman, unsigned.

"His word's as good as mine," she said simply.

The director looked uncertainly at Mal who just raised his eyebrows and gave a shrug of feigned helplessness. Deciding to make his own cue, Mal stood and motioned for Zoë to come with him, apologizing insincerely to the director. Zoë walked stiffly, picking up her already packed gear from the corner and headed out. Once in the open air, Mal offered to carry her gear, but she declined, her eyes not meeting his.

"Wanna tell me what really happened?" he probed.

She sighed and were it not for his years of knowing her momma, he wouldn't have seen the battle weariness in her eyes. "You remember that man I told you about last week?"

"The one they were stealin' body parts from?"

"Tissues," she corrected. "I went back and talked to him. Told him the truth. Figured he deserved to know he wasn't sick. Deserved to know he was helpin' people. Guess I thought he'd be happier to come to the hospital knowin' he was helpin'."

"It's his choice, Zo. You can't control that."

"Since he already thought he was sick, it would've been so easy for them to lie. To start takin' so much it made him sick again, and he wouldn't've know the difference. I kept thinkin' of Aunt River and …," Zoë trailed off, her chin dropping sadly. "He had a right to know."

Mal put his hand proudly on her shoulder and she finally met his eye. "You made a good choice, Little Zoë."

She pressed her thin lips together so tightly they disappeared – it was Wash's traditional look of unhappy resignation. Mal fiddled with the tiny braids in her hair and decided to switch topics.

"How's the boyfriend?"

"We broke up. He sided with them, said I was wrong to do what I did." Zoë shifted her gear to the other shoulder, her face sinking into a frustrated brood. "Why would anyone make you sign a paper that legally binds you to do something you know is wrong?"

"Law is funny like that."

"They'll go after that man," she informed matter-of-factly. "He signed a contract and didn't even know it. They'll be after him."

"You mean they ain't already?"

Zoë shrugged, noncommittally.

"Zo, did you help him escape?"

"Didn't have to." She said it so easily that even Mal believed her. He knew, somewhere in the dark recourse of his gut, that Zoë had helped the man escape, but Mal wasn't about to press the issue. Secrets like that are best left unspoken.

-----


	9. When to Keep Silent

**PART 25: HE LISTENED**

The ship was quiet, but finally felt whole again with Little Zoë back on board. As Mal made his final walkabout, he passed Jayne in the corridor and knew the man had been watching Zoë sleep. Knew because that's what he intended to do as soon as his work was done. He came down the stairs to the passenger dorms – now the children's quarters. At times, he wondered how much sleep they actually got, because they rarely awoke in the same rooms they were set down in.

He saw, more than heard, the door to Michael's room slide open and the boy tip-toe down the hall. With his sandy brown hair and pale blue eyes, Sky had nicknamed him mini-Mal, and both of them hated her for it. Without a sound, Michael slid open the door to Zoë's room and slipped stealthily inside. Mal was about to call him out, but it was Zoë's first night back and he knew that Michael missed his big sister.

"Jie-jie," Michael whispered. Where Zoë could be terse, Michael could be downright laconic. Mal rarely had a conversation with the boy that exceeded two sentences, and heaven knew he had tried.

Zoë yawned and stretched, lifting the covers to invite Michael into the bed. "I was wondering when you'd come, di di. I missed you."

"So loud. Hard to hear sometimes," Michael complained tiredly. Mal furrowed his brow, making a note to talk to Simon in the morning.

"Dinner was a bit rowdy," Zoë agreed with a grin.

"Dinner and daytime."

"So tell me what all I missed."

A wide smile broke on Michael's face immediately. "Baba taught me how to clean a gun!"

Mal chuckled silently, pleased to hear the boy so excited about a moment they'd shared nearly a month ago. But he nearly collapsed when Michael continued the story in detail, describing the gun parts to Zoë just as they had been described to him, and even repeating some of Mal's offhand jokes. Michael had seemed so distracted at the time, that Mal hadn't been sure he was listening. It seemed now the boy was not only listening, but had committed the entire experience to rote memory. Mal was amazed repeatedly over the next hour as words bubbled from his son's mouth, his voice sweeter than the sweetest honey in all the worlds. His knees became so weak, he had to sit. And he closed his eyes and listened just outside the door, savoring the sound of his son's voice, thanking any divine being vying for credit that Zoë had found the key to unlocking little Michael's tongue. His son continued on about Aunt Kaylee showing him how to replace the catalyzer and Aunt River fixing the flywire.

"Did you look after Aunt River while I was gone?" Zoë asked him. Mal thought the question odd, but so long as Michael answered, he didn't care.

"She knows too much. We play games, do puzzles. Keeps her focused."

"Does it help?"

"Cole calls us names," Michael answered tersely. Mal made a note to talk to Cole in the morning too, but selfishly wished another long story from Michael.

"Out loud or in his head?"

What kind of question…? Mal peaked in and saw Michael shrug.

"Hard to tell."

Little Zoë propped herself up on her elbows and considered her little brother seriously. Michael shook his head in response to some unasked question.

"Did you tell Baba?"

"What if he sends me away? Aunt River's daddy sent her away."

Mal felt tears in his eyes, hearing so much fear in his son's voice. Tell him what?

"He won't send you away," Zoë soothed.

"But what if –"

"Then I will come for you," she assured firmly. "You should still tell Baba. I'll be here for you."

"He already hears," Michael whispered gloomily. Mal pulled his head back behind the wall as Zoë sat up, sharply alert.

"Baba?"

He fought with himself only a moment before he stood and entered, making his presence known. Zoë moved somewhat protectively between him and Michael as he came by the bed and sat down. Michael huddled fearfully, curling into a ball by the pillow. Mal ignored the strange motion and pulled his son into his lap, rubbing his back.

"Tell me what?" Mal encouraged urgently, not even sure what he was asking to know, though he was starting to guess. All the times Little Zoë had said 'Aunt River and …' then trailed off, he thought she was just being reflective. It had never occurred to him that the sentence may have a different and real ending.

"Tell me why you're scared," Mal pleaded gently. Michael clamped his little hands on his ears and huddled silently.

Mal turned despairingly at Zoë. "How do you get him to talk so freely?"

Little Zoë looked at Michael, touching his head empathetically, smoothing the soft brown hair away from his face. "I get myself quiet first. Then I listen."

Mal couldn't begin to imagine what she meant, but he was desperate to hear his son. Taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes and emptied his mind of every fear and worry that plagued him until all that was left was the gentle hum of Serenity's engines. And then, carried like the sent of honey suckle on a summer wind, little Michael's voice surfaced, and he began to speak.

-----

**PART 26: HE FOUGHT**

Mal could tell when he saw her in that brown vest that Little Zoë was ready for a fight. She had started, calm, reasonable, and entreating, but she wasn't taking no for an answer. She had worked it all out, conspired with her Uncle Simon, and depended on those pleading brown eyes to get her way. Mal wasn't having it. He convinced himself he wasn't being unreasonable or obstinate. He had firm grounds for saying no. And it would take hell freezing over to convince him he was wrong. He wasn't worried about his resolve wavering; he was worried about losing his patience … and possibly breaking the allegedly shatter-proof plastic dishes in the galley.

"You ain't goin' and that's final!"

"I never get to do anything!" Zoë screeched, uncharacteristically shrill. Perhaps less uncharacteristic since she became a teenager.

"You go places all the time, but you ain't goin' here. Not on this world."

"Ughhhh! This is so not fair!"

Mal's turned a disbelieving frown on her and spoke threateningly. "Not fair is your Uncle Simon gettin' nabbed because you had to go to some yu ben de conference."

"I live in a floating box! I just want to hear what people are sayin'!" she shouted throwing her hands in the air.

"So listen to it on the cortex."

Little Zoë screamed incoherently, stomped around to the far side of the table, and kicked the storage cabinets. "You have no idea what it's like being the child of a petty criminal. You never had to worry about people checking your background. You never had to lie about your family. You're always talking about being honest, but I got nothing honest behind me. All I got are fake papers!"

"Don't pretend you don't understand the law, 'cause I know you do," Mal warned, stepping close until he was nose-to-nose with her. "The papers may say we're exonerated, but there's still plenty out there who think different and you can't go tromping around on Core worlds like it's nothin'."

"I hate living this way!" Zoë screamed, ducking out from under his stare and hitting the table as she walked away. "How kuang zeh de must my momma have been to bring me into this life!"

Mal looked at her incredulously, wanting to smack her for dishonoring her mother. He inhaled sharply, and answered in a strained voice. "Your momma struggled long and hard about bringing you into this 'verse and she died to let you live in it."

"No," Zoë retorted, angrily. "She died for five-thousand credits and a trip to some gou shi world with a beach. She died still workin' for you! She didn't give a second thought to me. Leavin' me without my real dad. Leavin' me with you! She was damn selfish."

"Do not speak of your mother that way," Mal warned, keeping his distance lest he smite her right there.

"She was damn selfish to bring me into this 'verse, and then she died so she wouldn't have to watch me live in it!"

"Do not speak of your mother that way!" Mal bellowed.

Zoë stopped speaking, her face red and puffed. She glared at Mal and he glared back. When she answered, her voice was cool, calm, taunting, and deadly. "Or what? You'll hit me? I know the law. You have no legal claim over me. Maybe I'll call the Alliance, go into this system that you hate so much. Maybe then I can have an honest family and a chance at a decent life!"

It was all he could do not to draw his gun and shoot her down. "Zoë Washburne, go to your room and stay there until I come for you."

"No! I'm going to the conference."

"Zoë," he snarled, grabbing her forearm before she could stomp out of the room. If it had been her mother, he would have punched her outright, and she would have punched him back. They'd have tussled and laughed about it later over drinks and cold compresses. If it had been her mother. He refused to hit Little Zoë. Refused to lash out in anger. Inara had made him promise long ago – hit when they're wrong, not when you're angry.

Zoë met his glare with a look of deep resentment and when she shook her arm, Mal loosened his grip, closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened his eyes again, Zoë was gone, and her mother's brown leather vest lay discarded on the dining table. Taking the treasured garment, his heart suddenly exploded in loss and rage. Angrily, Mal punched the wall – a move which immediately shot pain and an unexpected crack through his right hand. Gorram hand hadn't been too strong since Sky broke it that day at the bar.

"Mal?" Jayne looked inquisitively at Mal's bleeding knuckles as he entered the galley.

"Find Zoë," Mal ordered, his voice a low rumble. "Tie her to her bed if you have to, but do not let her leave the ship."

"I thought her and Simon—"

"Do. Not." Mal seethed through clenched teeth, angry at Zoë for slandering her momma, angry at Simon for conspiring with her about the conference. Mal flexed his fingers, pressing his eyes closed as the pain enveloped him. He'd go to Simon for a weave, and then he'd punch Simon. Simon could take a punch, and he deserved it… even if he didn't.

-----

**PART 27: HE REMEMBERED**

Mal sat cross-legged, sheltered under the port extender of Serenity as the rain pelted the hull. He could see the gold and red shield, the color of dried blood and clay like a desperate fist print, pressed under the most pregnant word he'd ever known. Serenity. It held the cause, the battle, the loss, the defiance, the redemption. The memory of his best friend. He still had her browncoat. And as he sat in the rain, looking at her war-torn garment, his own coat soaked through-and-through, he saw her face. By his side. In the war and after. He would go willingly back to that war – to that horrendous valley – just to hear her voice again. A shocking story, the daily report, good news or ill, he would go back.

She was military, experienced in battle, always alert. Always ready. Survive first. Be a hero second. Dead men have no point to prove. She was always stronger than he. Called him 'sir'. Always called him 'sir', even after they were friends. Always… he… he was supposed to have had her back. Supposed to protect her. He carried her when….

Mal choked back a sob as the thunder rolled, the weight of his friend so real on his shoulders. Carrying. Running. Her shed blood slickening his hands.

"Zoë," Mal called for the ghost, tears streaming down his face. He turned the old browncoat in his hand, seeing her maiden name sewn into the lining. Maiden. Wedding. Wash. The bullet holes on the browncoat. The bullet through Zoë. The rain streamed tears down the side of Serenity's shield, and Mal felt anything but peace and comfort.

"Zoë, I need you," he cried, his voice a desperate whisper, his face looking to the sky. He couldn't see the stars through the endless, dense dark clouds. "Zoë, I can't … she's too much … I can't do this without you."

His breath coming in ragged gasps, Mal leaned against the hull of Serenity, letting the ship support him the way Zoë used to. Then he wrapped her browncoat across the front of his body and let the rain fall.

-----


	10. Lost Family

**PART 28: HE SAT IN THE RAIN**

Thunder rumbled and he awoke in the Valley, surrounded by the scent of war, blood, and gunpowder. He shivered as the wind assaulted his rain-soaked skin. Lightning lit up the sky like the exploding shells of cannon fire, followed by the aftershock of more thunder. The only hope he had of making it out was Zoë, leaning right back against him, keeping his head out of the mud so he didn't drown in his sleep. As the thunder rolled, he barely heard her whisper through the rain.

"I'm with you."

Sweet words of reassurance. Her hand on his shoulder, she pulled him into an embrace; he rested his head against hers and breathed in her presence, as close as the air.

Not Zoë.

Mal opened his eyes to find Inara, clad in a soft, cotton dress, sitting in the puddle next to him. The memory of Zoë faded, her warm body becoming the cold, metal hull of Serenity on his back. Carefully, Mal tented Zoë's browncoat so that it shielded both him and Inara from the wind. He closed his eyes again, wishing for his old friend, finding only his wife. Inara held Zoë's vest in one hand, and rain spilled on it like tears.

"Why would she say that?" Mal asked, knowing that Inara had already spoken to Little Zoë, and had likely issued a swift, but fair punishment.

"She's a teenager, Mal. They fight dirty. Get used to it; we have two more to go."

"They don't have the same bullets as her. Can't hit me the same way she does."

"True. I'm sure they'll find newer and lower ways to hit you."

"But they're my own," Mal pointed out. "If I don't like 'em, I can shoot 'em and try again."

"She's yours too," Inara replied firmly.

Mal swallowed his tears. Inara hadn't seen him crying since Zoë died, and this seemed like such a minor spat next to the woes of that day. Little Zoë had hit his one great fear and insecurity – that his friend's trust had been misplaced. He'd trade his life and all the happiness he'd had since just to be able to give Little Zoë her mother back. The one thing he wanted most to give her was the one thing he never could.

"It's my fault her momma's gone," Mal confessed weakly, at which Inara held him tighter.

"You didn't pull the trigger."

"She was gonna leave the ship to raise her. She was …" Mal pressed his lips together, his guilt rising like bile. "I didn't want to say goodbye. It's the only reason she was still there when it happened. I tried keepin' her on the ship. Out of harm's way."

"She could be stubborn," Inara consoled, but it only fueled his anger. It wasn't Zoë's fault!

"Little Zoë was right. She wasn't thinkin' about her baby or herself. She was thinkin' about me. She was comin' to help me. She was … shot … All's the sudden, she was the one needin' carryin'… If I'd just let her go when she asked…"

"Then you'd be the one dead."

Inara's hand touched his cheek, catching the tears that he was not yet brave enough to let fall. He turned his head toward her hand, kissing her palm, accepting her comfort. "I'd take death any day to give Little Zoë her momma back. I told Simon to save her, but she told him to save the baby."

Inara's hand grazed through his wet hair, pulling his forehead to touch hers.

"She died for five thousand credits." Mal shook his head in disgust. "Five. Thousand."

"I doubt she saw it that way. She died for you."

"I don't know that I'm worth her life."

"She thought you were. She thought Little Zoë was."

Mal took the brown vest from Inara and turned it over in his hands, trying to see past the woman who had worn it and into the girl who was wearing it now. His wife kept silent and he watched as the rain soaked through her hair, leaving it limp and plastered to the side of her face. With a shivered sigh, he came to his senses, realizing that his limbs were going numb from the cold, falling rain.

"Don't think the Doc will treat me so well if I get pneumonia."

"He wasn't going to let her go," Inara informed quietly.

"I know. He told me."

Inara pulled away, shooting him a quizzical look. "Then why does he have a black eye?"

"He told me after," Mal qualified. His legs stiff, Mal came resolutely to standing, then reached out a hand to help Inara up.

"Come on, you'll ruin your dress."

Inara smiled, patting the soft, patterned, fabric as she stood. "Actually, this one is yours."

-----

**PART 29: HE WAS SICK**

Genevieve Tam was blessed with the same hazel eyes as her mother, the same ironic wit as her father, and unfortunately this week, the same head cold as Mal. Jamie called her 'sarca-cystic', Cole called her 'hi-larious'. Mal came upon her in the lounge just outside the Infirmary, coughing up a lung, just as he was unhappily doing the same.

"Hey, darlin'," Mal greeted tiredly, picking the six-year-old up, and carrying her into the Infirmary. "What are you doin' up?"

"Can't you tell? I'm trying to wake the dead."

Mal cleared his raw throat and gave a mock laugh. "Sarcasm ain't cute, Little Genny."

"Say it with a straight face and I might believe you," she retorted tiredly, her feet dangling off the counter when Mal set her down to root around for cough suppressant. Mal messed up her tawny hair with a smile. Sarcasm wasn't cute on Simon, but it was absolutely adorable on her.

Genny broke into a fit of coughing again and Mal found some mentholated goop to rub on her neck. Despite the soothing effect, he still went in search of the cough syrup and took a stingingly unpleasant swig for himself when he found it. He checked the label to see if this particular bottle was suitable for Genny, too. Coughing as much as she was, her throat was bound to be raw.

"Didn't your daddy give you something to get through the night?"

"He trusts his medicine too much."

"Were you goin' to get him when I came down?"

"I …" she shook her head, a lock of damp, brown hair falling over her eyes. Mal ran a cloth under cool water and wiped the perspiration from her face. She seemed so feverish.

"I threw up," she confessed, meekly.

"Ain't nothin' to be ashamed about. I been a might queasy myself," he admitted.

"But you didn't throw up."

"No, grown-up stomachs are a mite stronger –"

Mal stopped seeing her chin drop. More than anything, Genny hated being called weak. Made sense being around the boys all the time, and then having Zoë already twice her size. She'd gotten more than one scar trying to prove her worth, no matter how many reassurances they gave that she didn't need to.

When she started coughing again, Mal scooped her in his arms and paced the room, rubbing her back, whispering soothes that the medicine couldn't give. He pressed the call to Simon – a button Kaylee had installed shortly after she and Simon started bunking together, so he wouldn't feel so bad about being far from the Infirmary. As the number of children grew, so had the number of buttons in this area directly linking the children to their parents. Little Zoë called them 'miracle' buttons, probably in reference to one of the stories Jayne had told her.

Genny hiccupped, her head resting on Mal's shoulder. With a soft chuckle, she mused, "Now that all my dinner is flushed down the toilet, I feel hungry again."

Mal suppressed a laugh, which became a cough, then a laugh again. He remembered when Little Zoë was six. He could handle six. Why couldn't Little Zoë be six again?

-----

**PART 30: HE WAS PROUD**

Mal knocked on Little Zoë's door, letting her know that the others were getting ready to go into town. She'd been confined to the ship for the last two worlds, but her punishment was over now – a fact Mal was probably more glad of than she. He'd asked Jayne once how long a girl could stay mad, and wasn't comforted at all when Jayne told him about his cousin, who'd stayed mad at her folks for five years before showing up on their doorstep pregnant, broke, and abandoned by some hun dan boyfriend.

"Most important thing is to love her all the way through it, and be there for her when she comes to her senses," Jayne told him. Of all the things to be wise in, Mal never would have guessed Jayne so wise in family, but apparently he came from a large one and had seen just about everything.

Zoë was absolutely rigid with teen angst these days. She'd taken back her mother's vest, but in doing so seemed to reject the rest of them. The only ones that warranted any familial address these days were her little brothers. Over the weeks, she'd gone from calling him Baba Mal to just Mal, and it stung like venom. He could only pray that Jayne was right and that she'd come to her senses soon – before she killed him.

"Hey, Zo, whatcha doin'?"

Zoë sat on her bed, knees bent, supporting clipboard on which she was writing furiously.

"I'm writing letters to my congressman."

Mal furrowed his brow. "Zo, you don't have a congressman."

"Gramma Washburne does. She said she'd send it for me." Recently, Little Zoë had been seeking out her extended family and was disappointed to find them few and far between. He had taken her around the circuit of grandfolks when she was a baby and had offered to take her again a few weeks ago. Her response to him had been a polite thank you, but Michael had let it slip one morning that she was really excited about seeing them all again – all two that were still alive. He knew she had a right to love her blood family and to know them, but still it stung.

"This a letter about that eugenics bill?"

She nodded, not answering. Inara told him it was important to show interest in knowing even when she showed no interest in sharing. Still, he could only last so long before his heart broke into a million pieces, and he needed his wits around him today to do business.

"Your Mama's gettin' the entourage together, leavin' for town in about ten minutes. You want to go with them?"

Even though she no longer called Inara 'Mama 'Nara', he wasn't giving in to her distance. Little Zoë was family, no two ways about it. She may be confused, thinking her family was some place else and she was an orphan all alone, but he wasn't confused.

"I suppose I can finish these for the next world," Zoë sighed, putting her papers down and going in search of her shoes. "Not like we're runnin' out of people to exploit."

When she came past him out the door, he put a hand on her shoulder, working hard to control his breathing. "Keep fightin' your battles, Little Zoë. I'm proud of you for what you're doin'."

She considered him, her features expressionless, but at least her eyes weren't angry. "Thanks."

-----


	11. Giving Chase

**PART 31: HE DRANK**

It was an all out feast and celebration, albeit impromptu. They had just finished a job on Santos and gone to the town fair that evening. The next morning around 5am, Jayne and Sky arrived back on the ship, him punch drunk, her with a plastic bouquet of flowers, their hands joined on a bottle of whiskey and a marriage certificate. It had been a long time since Mal had shots for breakfast, but he did it for Jayne. The two were neck and neck right up to the third one at which point Jayne was laughing so hard he passed out and bumped his head.

The rest of the morning was a bit fuzzy for Mal. In fact, the first part was pretty fuzzy as well. The others had awoken to there rabble-rousing, and as Sky ministered to the fresh welt on Jayne's forehead, Kaylee challenged Mal and River to a shot relay. So there he was taking a shot, running around the table, taking a shot, running around again, trying desperately to keep up with the girls and not trip over the chairs. Weren't fair, Kaylee and River having not started their morning with three shots on an empty stomach the way Mal had.

Simon had set out some wafers and water right away, encouraging responsible drinking, until Kaylee offered him a belly button shot, at which point the Doc cracked his knuckles and took on the challenge. River cheered on wobbly legs, pouring another round for herself and Jayne. By 8am, Inara and Sky were the least drunk of the crew, having got straight to preparing breakfast. Despite everyone's protests that Sky should sit down and enjoy herself, she insisted on cooking seeing as she had a craving for French toast and no one else knew how to make it right.

"Hey, Zoë," Mal greeted the blurry looking girl standing in the doorway. "Come in and celebrate with us. Your Uncle Jayne got hitched last night."

He handed over his whiskey glass, encouraging her to taste and laughed out loud at the face she made. Her nose wrinkled and her eyebrows scrunched together and she hissed fresh air into her mouth to follow the burn of the alcohol. Mal put his arm around her and laughed again when she didn't hand the glass back. She stood by his chair, whiskey in hand, leaning contentedly against his shoulder as Jayne started the story.

"It was like a beacon of light off in the distance. The Graceland Chapel o' Love, the one undead Elvis Presley presidin'. Never seen a preacher dress stranger, or a ceremony without an arch, but we jumped over this broom stick and it was done!"

"Didn't you need witnesses?" Inara laughed, sipping her whiskey in the most dainty of manners.

"We had witnesses," Jayne slurred. "Elvis-Norm and, uh…"

"Elvis-John," Sky finished. "One in black, one in white. Wild hair. Funny capes."

"One of 'em let me play his guitar," Jayne chuckled, nearly falling over in his chair, but Zoë reached out and caught his arm.

"What's goin' on?" Cole peaked in curiously, leading the pack of youngens into the dining room. Kaylee quickly sat up and pulled her shirt over her navel, but Simon was still nipping drunkenly at her ear. Sky brought the first round of French toast to the table, straddled Jayne, and alternated between bites of toast and bites of her new husband.

"Jayne and Sky got married," Kaylee explained cheerfully, sliding off the table so as the kids wouldn't follow her bad example.

"What ever happened to living in sin?" Zoë asked, her nose scrunching as the whiskey touched her tongue again. At the rate she was going, the alcohol would evaporate before she actually swallowed anything new.

"Yeah, what finally prompted the move?" Mal goaded.

Sky laughed kissing Jayne's nose, and spoke tauntingly as if talking only to him. "Seems if there's one thing in the 'verse that scares Mr. Cobb more than Reavers, it's his Ma."

"That letter was callin' for blood," Jayne defended, looking around her to point a finger at the blurry folks in the room who might judge.

"She had a point."

"What was the point?" Kaylee teased, grabbing a slice of toast from the second plate as Inara brought it over.

"Jayne wrote her askin' for a new hat," Sky began, speaking as though it were the stupidest thing Jayne could have done. "Hinted that it needed to be a bit smaller than the last and ready in nine months time. And she replied –"

"Don't see what the bid deal is. She weren't married when she had me."

Mal squinted through the hazy room, his neurons struggling to fire, his brain cells madly processing. Sky was still talking as if she hadn't noticed the room fall so quiet.

"Hold on," Mal interrupted. "Go back to the part about the little hat."

-----

**PART 32: HE CHASED RABBITS**

Mal used to need coffee to jump start his day, but now he tended to spring out of bed before the alarm even went off. Finding a blue shirt on the floor that didn't smell too offensive, he shook out the fabric, and shrugged it on, then went in search of pants. Inara rolled and yawned, looking radiant wearing one of his old t-shirts. It had taken years, even after they were married, to get to the grey sweatpants, no make-up side of her. It had taken her being kidnapped. At first, he thought she was just rejecting all her fancy life, the way she'd stopped wearing her jewelry. Those hun dan had no doubt planted a thousand lies in her head, that the way she dressed she was begging to be taken. At first, maybe it was that. By now, it was just comfortable love. She'd choose between the silk nightgown (which drove Mal crazy), the soft t-shirt (which also drove Mal crazy), or nothing at all (which really… oh, yeah).

When he leaned in to give her a kiss, she grabbed his suspenders, making him fall on the bed. Mal laughed into her mouth as his head banged against the wall and she rolled up on top of him. Normally, he'd blow off his work and take a slow morning, but this was not Inara's time and she knew it. A few kisses later, he rolled her off him, finished dressing, and bound excitedly into the hall.

Were he less of a man (or perhaps a more secure man), he'd probably have skipped to the children's quarters. Tipping open the door to Michael's room, he saw the boy already up and wandering, playing with his toys. This was his time. Their time. The hour before the ship woke up and his little voice got crowded into silence. Mal cherished this hour for the unexpected twists it brought to his day, the strange stories his son came up with, and the sweet privilege of getting to know his own boy one game at a time.

"Baba, lets chase rabbits!" Michael said excitedly, abandoning his truck and running over. Mal dropped to his knees, giving a good morning hug, not even second guessing the odd request, knowing Michael would explain soon. Little Michael took his hand, leading him to the cargo bay, beginning a story.

"Last night, this huge trans-dimensional space ship appeared and docked with Serenity. That's why the ship rolled over the way it did and everyone's change fell out of their pockets. And they left behind a giant rabbit in the cargo bay that got so pregnant with baby rabbits it exploded!"

"Oh, my. Sounds pretty bloody."

"It was terrible," Michael agreed, nodding his head seriously. "But now there are baby rabbits all over the ship and we have to catch them before they take over!"

Mal laughed heartily, asking more questions about the nature of this trans-dimensional ship, and if there was any money in the rabbit trade. Before he knew it, he was hopping around the cargo bay, leap-frogging (or leap bunnying?), chasing rabbits with Michael. By breakfast time, they had to contend that most of the rabbits had leapt to another dimension and that those still on board would not fetch a fair price in the fur market anyhow. Michael helped him negotiate a truce with the trans-dimensional aliens, agreeing that no more bunnies would be exchanged between the ships, then they established a non-aggression pact with the bunnies staying on board. It was one of the few times in Mal's long career that a negotiation had gone well and he came out on the better end of a deal. But then, that was one of the perks of knowing Michael.

-----

**PART 33: HE SEARCHED**

Panic coursed through him as the buzz of a 'miracle' button woke him up. It had been so long since any of the children had called for him in the middle of the night. They tended to crawl into each others rooms for the little things – even when Jamie broke his collar bone jumping on the bed. Inara was only half a step behind him, her robe flapping behind her like a flag in the wind. As they rounded the bend to the staircase, he could hear Cole crying, and the alarm in his mind rang all the louder. His son sat on the bottom stair, moaning like he'd just had a nightmare, and Mal scooped him into a hug, brushing his raven-black hair from his face.

"What happened, Cole? Are you hurt?" Inara asked urgently, holding her sleeve to Cole's bloody nose. Cole shook his head.

"Is someone here?" Seeing his injuries were minimal, Mal became quickly wary, handing Cole over to Inara and checking the hallway, then peaking into the children's rooms.

"Did someone hit you?"

"Jie jie," he sobbed, then hiccupped.

"Zoë hit you?" Inara asked incredulously.

Cole shook his head again, searching for the breath to explain. "She will when she finds out."

"Finds out what, Cole?" Mal asked sternly, skipping the rest and heading to Zoë's room. He tipped open the door, but Zoë wasn't inside.

"When she finds out I called you. She didn't… she ain't here, Baba."

"This I can see."

Cole buried his head woefully in Inara's shoulder as Mal rummaged around the room, a strange feeling setting in.

"Mal," Inara whispered, her voice sinking as she peered inside. She noticed it too. Zoë wasn't the only thing missing from the room. He couldn't place it at first, because her clipboard was still on the bed, one of Zoë's tireless letters resting on top. His heart near stopped when he leaned over to read what she'd written.

'Don't come for me, Mal. This is something I have to do. –Zoë.'

"She told me not to tell," Cole wept. "But I got so scared for her."

"She'll forgive you, Cole. You did the right thing," Mal assured, touching Cole's face, then running to the buttons that would awake the rest of the crew.

He could be angry with Little Zoë, but he could never hate her. He could give her freedom to fall, without letting go. He hated the distance between them now, though she seemed to need it. She'd timed it perfectly – knowing they had a job and were planning to take off before breakfast. If Cole hadn't spoken up, they'd have been half a day out before anyone noticed her missing, and probably another half day after that before anyone got concerned about it. She wanted to get left, and she didn't want him to come back for her. But he was her family; he was her father. Leaving her behind just wasn't an option.

-----


	12. Please, God, No

**PART 34: HE FEARED**

Three days. No word. No luck. No ideas. She'd disappeared with the clothes on her back, a handful of meds, and the small stuffed dinosaur that hadn't left her bureau since she was a baby. They'd backed out of the job, which only concerned Mal because he'd taken a bullet for it. They sent out search parties, hung fliers, and monitored the space port. Girl knew how to hide.

The children were growing anxious, and Cole was doing his best to take on the role of big brother, looking out for them the way Zoë always had. Words could not assuage the guilt in his son's eyes, but Mal would be damned if he wouldn't try. He didn't want to think of what would've gone down if Cole had kept silent.

They took the mule out during the day; called her name. Near about run this settlement dry, and there were at least thirty more on the world within spitting distance.

Inara was trying to search smart, taking into account Zoë's perpetual stand for bioethics, finding small organizations and groups on the world she may have been in contact with. While many places had read Zoë's public letters and spoke highly of her work, none of them had ever seen her, and remarked incredulously at her young age and the possibility of her presence on their world. All-in-all, another dead end.

She hadn't taken money, which meant she'd either run to contacts on the world or she was stealing food. River patiently reviewed the ship's log for any and all communiqués to the planet, while Mal monitored the local police frequencies for any reports of theft. As their labor remained fruitless, Mal's fear ripened.

The middle of the night, Mal sat at the dining table, biting his finger nails, unable to stomach real food. With every hour that passed, his anxiety grew. He read that letter over and over again, short as it was. "Don't come for me, Mal. This is something I have to do." What did she have to do? Run away? Or something else?

His body was so tense, his nerves so frayed, that when Michael climbed into his lap, it felt like a thousand jelly-fish stingers on his skin. Pressing his eyes closed, Mal inhaled sharply, reminding himself that he had other children besides Zoë to look after. Still, he could not empty his mind of his little girl.

"Where's your sister, Michael," he murmured, not expecting an answer.

"She's scared."

"I am too," Mal confessed.

"She wasn't scared before. She was sure."

Mal nodded, unconsoled. After three days with no food and no money, of course Zoë was getting scared. Knowing she was scared made it all the worse. Michael spoke again.

"She's scared because the plan changed."

"What was her plan?"

"She's scared of them," he whimpered.

"Is someone hurting her?" Mal asked more urgently, turning his son to face him. "Michael, is someone hurting her?"

"Baba!" the boy cried out, covering his ears and burying his head in Mal's shoulder. Was that cry from his daughter or from his son? Mal hugged Michael tightly, heading to the bridge to check something on the cortex. The only thing in the 'verse that truly scared Zoë to the core – to the point of being contagious on her brother – was the memory of Inara being taken. If someone like that had Zoë… he'd been looking in the wrong place.

-----

**PART 35: HE BROKE IN**

"Jayne!" Mal hollered as Sky flew backwards and hit the dirt. The enemy was retreating, they were almost through. Couldn't back down now. Couldn't be distracted. With a thunderous roar, Jayne let loose a reckless spray of bullets, felling one of their attackers while the other retreated. As soon as the bullets stopped flying, Jayne ran to Sky. She was dazed, but bloodless – her armor had held.

His head near lost, Mal made a mad dash for the metal shed their attackers had been protecting, praying that none of the bullets had penetrated the side. Gorram slave traders! His Zoë was in there.

"River, bring the mule and some gorram lock cutters!" Mal called into his radio, firing point blank at the lock and managing only to send it into a melted spin.

Mal pounded on the door of the metal shed, hoping the sound could overpower the deafening thunder of his heart. "Zoë, we're comin' in," he assured through the door. No response.

His breath caught in waiting, Mal ran back to Jayne as he knelt next to Sky.

"How we doin'?"

Sky grunted and lifted her head, but opted to lie in the dirt a little longer. "Just a little bruised is all," she assured through gritted teeth.

"Lie still for now," Jayne soothed, taking off his jacket to make a pillow for her. When the mule arrived, they lifted Sky into the back seat, then Mal took the lock cutters and ran to open the shed. He was not prepared for the sight that awaited him.

The sun shot through the musty, damp shed as the door opened to thirty girls, huddled in various clumps, clad in filthy rags, in various phases of starvation and dehydration.

"Wo de ma," Mal muttered, wanting to dash in and find Zoë, but not wanting to traumatize the girls any more than they already had been. Turning back to the outside, he hollered, "Jayne, call Inara. Tell her to get down here."

Taking a deep breath, Mal stepped inside the barn, the stench of human waste nearly overpowering him. Some of the girls closest to the front recoiled, but others stayed perfectly still, heads hung in defeat.

"Zoë?" Mal called. "Zo! You in here?"

A girl by Mal's feet squeaked, and he knelt immediately to face her – a young Asian with a black eye and a busted lip. "It's alright, Miss. I'm here to help."

The girl looked at him, terrified, shuddering uncertainly.

"I'm lookin' for my daughter. For my Little Zoë," Mal tried again.

The girl's eyes were wide with disbelief. "She told you not to come."

"You've seen her?" Mal's voice was tight, trying to maintain patience and make no sudden moves.

"She got taken a few days ago. With the other sicklings?"

Mal's heart raced, and he could tell he was starting to upset the girl. "Taken where?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes pleading for mercy. "No one ever comes back to tell."

-----

**PART 36: HE DIED THAT MOMENT**

Mal left Inara to handle the young ladies, knowing she'd do it with dignity and respect; he sent River and Sky back to the ship and to Simon; then he and Jayne followed the scent from the metal shed in circles, hoping that the 'sicklings' had not been taken far. He hoped and prayed that Zoë had contracted some non-terminal illness on world and not suffered another relapse. Most days, she didn't need meds anymore, but it only took one flare-up to burn through the stash she'd taken along.

Jayne walked like his left brain had been cut out, and Mal knew he had his mind on Sky and the baby. Behind the shed was an oily trail, stained by car exhaust. Mal's boots sank into the sludge of the place, and the air thickened with the stench of burnt flesh.

"Please, God, no," he prayed, sticking to the cover of the trees as they approached the source of the diffusing smoke.

He could hear Jayne murmuring in fear as well, his movements becoming more concentrated and intent on the destination they were tracking. "Please let her not be here," Jayne whispered. "Not my baby girl."

The two paused at the edge of a clearing, seeing a wooden shack with the door tipped open and dangling off the hinges and a pile of burnt corpses in the side yard. Mal loaded his pistol with fresh rounds, his jaw setting, but the place was silent. There was no one here to shoot. He stepped tentatively closer to the fetid remains, his heart threatening to vomit itself right out of him. He would never forget those charred faces, their mouths seared into screams, the shreds of their lives crumbling away as ash.

His body went cold, his breath coming in short puffs, marking the time. He would have screamed had he not been shocked into silence. Jayne stood next to him, pale as ice; his eyes, forgetting how to blink, just sort of twitched. Mal wanted to relight that fire and throw himself on it, cover Zoë with himself. Let her … everyone dies alone.

Suddenly Jayne grabbed his arm and pulled him sideways.

"Mal, watch out!"

From the trees above, a dark figure fell, tackling them to the ground. Mal started to fight, but recognized her feel, recognized her scent. Little Zoë! Baby girl! Daughter! … Alive!

"Baba," she mouthed, her throat dry, her body trembling, clad in nothing but her momma's vest. Quickly, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around the naked, quivering girl, pulling her close, not trusting his legs to stand just yet.

"Oh, Zoë, what are you doing here?" he moaned, kicking himself for the stupidity of the question. Her eyes met his with a ghost of understanding, her voice and body weak.

"They took…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes closing, and Mal frantically hugged and pressed the life back into her. Finally she murmured. "I wanted my vest back."

-----


	13. Ain't Just Blood

**PART 37: HE UNCOVERED A TRUTH**

Sky lay on the center bed of the Infirmary, Zoë on the side one. Mal had never assisted in surgery on a pregnant woman before, and would be happy to die never doing it again. Doesn't take much to dislodge a kid that young, but fortunately Sky had not miscarried.

Still shaking from the experience, Mal sat on the countertop that had become the second bed, setting Zoë's feet on his lap, so she could still lie stretched. Mal hadn't gotten her to speak more than a few words since bringing her home, but he could see in her eyes it was more than being taken that plagued her. She absently tugged a strand of her hair, staring at Sky, her shoulders slumped with the weight of her guilt. She felt stupid for running away; she felt responsible for Sky's injury. All things that were normal, and shouldn't be discouraged; teenagers are allowed to make mistakes. The one thing he did discourage was that she felt unforgivable. That, he wouldn't stand for.

"Those girls," Zoë croaked, her voice a welcome reprieve. It was the first time she had spoken voluntarily, and not in direct response to a health-related question. Mal handed her the cup of tea he'd been nursing and she drank carefully.

"We saw to them," Mal assured. "Were they what you went lookin' for?"

Zoë had yet to be specific as to why she ran away, and Mal had yet to push. But if she was talking, he could probe. Little Zoë didn't seem to hear, her eyes drifting closed, then open again, as if sleep was about to overtake her. Mal stroked her feet unconsciously but when Zoë shuddered, he immediately stopped, worried that he'd triggered an unbearable memory. Simon had assured him that she had not been physically assaulted, but still… verbal threats can echo through a girl's memory just as resonant.

"I didn't deserve this," she moaned, her eyes squeezing shut.

"Zo, no one deserves bein' treated like chattel. That's what all them letter's you been writin' are all about."

Zoë shook her head, her face collapsing darkly. "I mean bein' rescued. I told you not to come."

"You don't give the orders around here. I do. That's why everyone calls me Captain. Maybe you noticed."

"Yeah," Zoë nodded forlornly. "I just … I don't know if that's enough."

"Enough for what?" Mal pressed, his concern growing. "Little One, what's gotten into your head that's driven this wall between us?"

Zoë cringed a little, her fingers pinching against each other. The division between them had become so common to her, she seemed to have forgotten the source. He could see it in the way her eyes grew distant. "Remember when I yelled at you – said you had no legal claim over me."

"That was a long time ago, Zo. Water under the bridge."

Her breathing got a little heavier. Mal reached for her chin, bringing her almond eyes to look at his. He nearly shook with the intensity of her anguish, finally understanding the lie that had poisoned her heart. She'd said it to hurt him and ended up scaring herself.

"Just got me thinkin' is all," she whispered. "Because it wouldn't take much for them to take me from here."

"Who? The Alliance?"

"Anyone. Anyone who shares my blood even a little has more claim over me than you. Because... 'Cause you're not my…"

"Family?" Mal finished softly. "Yes I am. May not have begat you, but I took you in."

"It's just some ye bun de promise you made to my momma –"

"Family ain't just blood, Zo. Like you and Michael."

"That's different –"

Mal cut her off before she could dismiss the relationship too quickly. "You ain't some baby got dropped on my doorstep and you ain't some token reminder of a friend I lost. You're my daughter. And you'll never be anything less no matter what the law says."

Zoë's head lolled on the pillow, nodding, but not persuaded, guilt tugging the corners of her eyes. Mal took her hand, desperately wanting her to see. To come to her senses. She accepted his touch uncertainly, but then gripped him more urgently, her eyes locked on their connected hands. Clinging desperately to him, she started to cry.

Mal let her squeeze his hands till he thought his bones would crush. Perhaps he shouldn't have given her the one he'd broken.

"I wanna show you something," Mal decided impulsively, freeing his hand and reaching into his pocket for a box. "I had this ring made special for your Mama 'Nara."

Zoë took the little box and considered the ring inside, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffling. "It's beautiful."

"Do you know what it is?"

She shook her head, drying her cheeks with her sleeve.

"It's a mother's ring. One stone for each child, colored by when you were born. This one's for Michael, this one's for Cole, and this one's for you. Zoë, your family is here. Mama, me, your brothers. We're here. Ain't no one can take you away from us, even if you wanted to go."

She laughed a single desperate puff of air. He saw in her eyes how much she wanted to believe, and without thinking, he took her hand again. Flying on nothing but love, he rubbed his thumb over her fingers. "I want you to wear this."

"You said it was for Mama 'Nara," she protested. There it was. She'd said her name – 'Mama 'Nara' – for the first time in ages. And hope twitched inside of Mal.

"Mama 'Nara knows who her children are. Seems now you're the one that needs reminding," he said softly. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Testing the ring on her fingers, he finally found it fit best on the middle one, and he slid it over the last knuckle into place. Zoë looked at the ring, touching the three stones with her fingers, tears spilling over.

"I'm sorry, Baba. I'm so sorry."

She leaned up in the bed and Mal pulled her into a sweet embrace. She finally understood. Finally believed. Finally called him 'Baba' again. Little Zoë cried softly, and he could feel her still fiddling with the ring behind his back as they hugged.

"Was this for Mama 'Nara's birthday?" Zoë asked through sniffles.

Mal pulled back quickly, a glint in his eye. "Why, is her birthday comin' up?"

"Nooo," Zoë sang cautiously, color rising to her cheeks, looking like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Mal knew she was toying with him. Girl could lie better than that.

"You know when it is don't you," Mal pressed, tickling her side, making her break into giggles. He tickled again, from her knees to her toes.

"Baba," she pleaded through laughter, trying not to roll off the bed as she writhed happily.

"Tell me and I'll stop," Mal teased, alternately poking at her neck and her side, secretly hoping she'd call him 'Baba' again.

"Ok, ok, I'll tell you," Zoë squealed, grabbing his hands and holding them at bay long enough to catch her breath. Mal chuckled joyfully.

"Woman, you'll never be able to withstand torture if you give in to tickles."

Zoë panted happily, shaking her head. "It's about time you knew the truth anyhow."

Mal sat up straighter, hanging on by a thread, excited to finally uncover the long-kept secret, almost feeling guilty for tickling it out of Zoë. Almost. She had paused for dramatic effect, a devious smile spreading briefly across her face, before she suppressed it and went expressionless.

"Baba," she explained patiently, putting a hand on his shoulder, her face completely serious. "Mama 'Nara has no birthday. That's why she doesn't age."

-----

**PART 38: HE SAW JOY**

Sky had been ordered to bed rest in the rechristianed 'Maternity Suite' since she was released from the Infirmary, and she loathed every minute of it. Zoë waited on her hand and foot, at first out of guilt, but later just because she wanted too. Simon joked that she was perfect for the job, having seen all the other Serenity babies delivered and become an expert at recognizing the early signs of labor. By the ninth month, Sky's complaints were loud enough to be heard through the whole aft deck; unfortunately she was immune to what Simon had dubbed "Serenity preemie syndrome" and delivered two weeks late.

Mal stood in the lounge with his crew, his arms draped over Little Zoë's shoulders. She leaned back against him comfortably, smiling and talking his ear off about the latest news on the bioethics front… though it was hard to concentrate with the Sky's screams seeping through the door to the Maternity Suite.

After twelve hours of waiting, Jayne emerged from the room, a baby girl in his hands, ready to introduce his firstborn to her family. He came to the couch in the lounge, sitting down carefully, and all the children gathered around to peak in at the squirming bundle, the adults not far behind.

"Who's this?" Mal prompted, to which Jayne shrugged, a delirious smile on his face.

"Just my baby girl for now."

"Can I hold her, Uncle Jayne?" Zoë asked, sitting on the couch close to the pair. Mal wouldn't have guessed Jayne could look any more joyful than he already did, but Zoë calling him 'Uncle' again, still fresh to his ears, just put him over the top. Carefully Jayne handed over the baby girl, putting one arm around Zoë, one on the baby's face.

"She looks just like Sky."

"We can be thankful for some things," Inara quipped and Mal jabbed her playfully.

"Look at those eyes," Kaylee remarked in awe, taking the baby from Zoë after a few moments and walking her around to the other onlookers.

"What's she looking at?" River wondered, following the baby's gaze up and to the left.

Mal couldn't have been happier for Jayne, but there was the matter of avoiding that Alliance cruiser that had been stalking them the last week and a half and he needed to get back to the bridge. Planting a soft kiss on Inara's cheek, Mal excused himself from the group and started up the stairs. He paused, hearing Little Zoë's voice and stepped down to watch a moment longer.

"Guess I'm not your baby girl anymore," Zoë mulled softly, leaning on Jayne's shoulder. Jayne gave her a light squeeze.

"What kind of silly question is that? 'Course you're still my baby girl. You been stealin' the wine or somethin'?"

Zoë laughed lightly, twisting the ring on her finger. "I didn't mean…"

Jayne pulled Little Zoë closer, one eye on her, one on his baby, still making the circuit around the room in Kaylee's arms.

"Did I ever tell you about the time your daddy's ear got cut off?"

"Jian ta de gui," Zoë retorted, her eyes lighting up. Mal rubbed his ear ruefully, thinking he should leave before the story brought back too many memories.

"Not your daddy-Wash, your daddy-Mal," Jayne clarified. "But then they're both heroes in this story…"

With a wry smile, Mal headed upstairs and to the bridge, trying to keep his mind off his own ear. Had work to be done and a family to protect. His family. Every last one.

-----

**PART 39: HE PROMISED**_ (a flashback)_

It had been three months since Wash died. Three months to the day, and Mal was starting to wish he hadn't scheduled himself for the late night shift. He sat on the bridge, staring into the boundless black, his fingers dancing every now and again over the controls, his stomach growling for a midnight lunch. Swallowing his hunger, his thoughts wafted over the crew and their slow recovery from the events following their encounter with the operative and the Reavers. Limping about as they were, made it difficult to find work they could handle, but they had to work. It would only get harder now with Zoë being pregnant.

His first mate came up the stairs to the bridge, bringing an aura of tension, walking gingerly so as not to disturb the bandage on her spine. She had loosened the straps on her vest, more for the injury than the pregnancy. It was still too early to show. With eerie stillness, she ghosted her fingers over her late husband's dinosaurs, still guarding the console, then came around and leaned on the bulkhead to face the sky.

Since her husband's death, Zoë rarely made unnecessary trips to the bridge, but tonight she seemed content to lean on the wall and stare at the stars, watching the slow-growing disk of Persephone in the distance. Over the years, Mal had learned to distinguish different levels of angst on her face with amazing accuracy. He could tell when she was thinking about the past (something he let go with respectful silence) or when she was worrying about the future (something he tended to interrupt, as worry was as useful as a handle on a snowball). Tonight, it was a mixture of both, and Mal's jaw clenched tensely. He dared not make a sound lest he scare her back into hiding. How he longed to hear her voice on something besides business – an old story, a smart remark, any glimmer of her dry humor, no matter how cutting the words.

"Sir…"

The word surfaced through the silence, seemingly as unexpected to Zoë as it had been to him. Zoë had always been a woman of few words, but rarely was she at a loss to find the ones she wanted.

"Zoë," Mal replied, encouraging her to speak again. She hesitated with a heavy heart, bad news, and no will to speak it. _Tian xiao de, was she fixin' to leave, too? Not now! Not with Inara freshly packing. Please, don't let her leave now!_

"Sir, I'm thinkin' to… not have this baby."

Mal's jaw dropped, unexpectedly struck with the notion that her not having the baby might be worse than her leaving. He could hear the struggle in her voice, and didn't know if she was telling him her decision of if she was, perhaps once in her life, asking for his opinion. So he replied neutrally. "That's a tough call."

'_Please don't do this, Zoë!_' his heart pleaded. '_You will hate yourself if you do this._'

"It's just not practical, bringin' a child into this life," she reasoned, and he could tell she hated her reasoning. Mal had worried about how a pregnancy and a baby would affect them as well, and how their jobs would change what with Zoë not on the field for awhile. But it wasn't an issue to him. How could he explain? He wasn't keeping her on the ship to work. He didn't care if she didn't pull her own weight. Hell, even if she left the ship, he'd be sending money and helping in any way he could. He had her back! That was the unspoken promise. Still, she seemed trapped by her reason and his only recourse was to break the tension with something unreasonable.

"So I add babysittin' to the chore list. Diaper rotation. We'll figure somethin' out."

Zoë shifted against the bulkhead, raising an eyebrow at him, her lips twitching, but not smiling. Sarcasm masking relief. She appreciated the 'we' and he hadn't even meant to say it that way. Though he did mean it. Perhaps what had always been understood between them still needed saying on occasion.

Some time, long ago, they'd carried each other through a war, their blood mingled in matching shrapnel wounds, and they healed as one. If either were ripped away, the other would be left bleeding. Maybe that was why she was reasoning – trying to choose him over the baby. But he knew, even as she did, that not having this baby would kill her a little more than she'd already died in losing Wash. She thought she could take it. Couldn't see another way. Mal hadn't worked out the details yet, but he wanted her to know she didn't have to choose. Didn't have to lose him, lose Serenity, to have the baby.

"Zoë, I can't know what you're strugglin' with –"

"I'm struggling with becoming a single parent, sir." She cut him off! Didn't want him to say it. Didn't want to hear. Mal paused only briefly in response to her sharp tone, hoping that the words he found would not feel like acid on a cut.

"Zoë, you can be the only blood relative this child has left in the 'verse, but you will **never** be a single parent."

Was he speaking the ever unspoken bond? The promise that neither made out loud for fear they couldn't keep, but that both held to their dying breath. She was watching him and promises were flying, though he couldn't say with certainty if his lips were moving or just his heart. When his thoughts found pause, only Zoë's charged, expressionless gaze filled the silence. How dare he speak?

"Not sayin' the decision ain't yours," Mal mumbled, trying to dismiss whatever embarrassing statement his lips may have made. "Just ask that you take that into consideration before you do what you're thinkin' on doin'."

"Of course, sir."

The tension in the room lifted somewhat, and Zoë took up the co-pilot's chair, her hands surfing the cortex, making small talk about the next job. The change in her manner between coming in and now was so minute, it could not be quantified, but Mal was assured she got the message. He relaxed in his chair, back to business as usual, smiling as she cracked a joke about their latest employer. In the end, he couldn't be sure if they'd actually exchanged words or just a series of glances that lead to understanding. But there was understanding. So long as there was blood in his veins and breath in his lungs, the promise would stand. Her family was here.

-----


End file.
